


Blood and Trust

by NightingaleTrash



Series: Bloodlines: Evie Byrne [2]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Father-Daughter Relationship, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Teenage Vampire, mentions of parental abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2020-07-23 17:14:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 156,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20011906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightingaleTrash/pseuds/NightingaleTrash
Summary: When Evie fled LA, she did so with the intention to start over. But her past has come back to haunt her in ways she can scarcely imagine, and now its a race against time to stop the machinations of her mysterious adversary. But when the blood begins to flow, who do you trust?





	1. Ash and Smoke

Evie was more than aware that she stunk even without the disgusted glances of the Kine she passed as she climbed aboard the train. She could feel the grimy coating of grease and ash covering her from head to toe, and the bone-deep aching that made her not really give a fuck what anyone around her thought right now. She just kept her hood up and her eyes fixed on the window, ignoring everything else around her.

She’d made a choice when she faced Lacroix alone. No factions, no protection. Just herself. She remembered sitting in the back of that taxi, recalling her conversation with Rosa all those weeks ago. 

_“Who can I trust?” she’d asked._

_“The Man on the Couch, the Lone Wolf. All others, tread carefully,” was the reply._

The Lone Wolf could only be Beckett, seeing as he was the only independent vampire Evie had met in LA. He had advised she also take the path of independence, but only after the Sarcophagus situation was resolved. She wondered if his advice would have changed if he’d been there in that cab with her. If he would have just told her to flee LA and hide out someplace far away until things blew over. Somehow she couldn’t imagine that he’d endorse throwing herself at Xiao and Lacroix with not a single ally on her side.

All she knew was that anyone who wasn’t Beckett or Mercurio couldn’t be trusted. There were no factions she could depend on to repeal the Blood Hunt once Lacroix was dead. Strauss, Therese, the Anarchs… To them she was a pawn, a weapon, or a threat. Maybe all three. And she had no interest in being any of those things. 

So here she was, on the first train out of LA to literally anywhere else with only a small rucksack filled with her meagre belongings and whatever money she had left. It wasn’t much but it wasn’t like she’d ever had much to begin with; just a few scraps of sentimental value, a couple of weapons, and the clothes on her back. 

She supposed it could be worse. Not by much, but she’d take what she could get.

“Is this seat taken?”

Evie flinched and looked up to see none other than Beckett standing over her, brow arched over his sunglasses, and a surprisingly fond (if not a little amused) look on his face. 

“Not at all,” she replied as she moved her rucksack under her seat, allowing Beckett to sit down. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d already left LA.”

He settled himself into his seat and deposited his own bag between his feet before he answered. 

“I much prefer to travel by Protean form, but daybreak isn’t far off and I’d rather not wait till nightfall to leave. Much as Los Angeles has grown on me-” His voice was dripping with sarcasm as usual. “-I realise it may not be wise for me to remain in the wake of a Prince’s death. The Camarilla will certainly be investigating and I hate being questioned about such things.”

Evie nodded. It was a smart way to look at it. She hadn’t really put as much thought into leaving the city, even if it was really the only choice she had. She just wanted out.

For a long while neither Kindred said anything to the other. Beckett sat with a book in his lap - it would be a while before Evie realised it was the one she had procured for him via Knox - and she just watched the world going by outside the window.

“So, where exactly were you planning to go?” 

“Huh?”

She found herself pulled back into reality and turned to Beckett who hadn’t looked up from his book. If he hadn’t said anything more she might have just thought she’d imagined it.

“Well you’re clearly leaving the city. I trust you have a plan?”

That smug edge and the curl of his lip told her that he definitely did not think she had a plan, or else he wouldn’t be asking in the first place. She frowned.

“Why do you care?”

“Oh, I don’t. I was just making conversation. And you’ve always had so many questions for me, it feels fair I ask a few of you.”

“Yeah, and I told you back at Lacroix’s place that that’s the pin on a grenade that you don’t wanna pull,” she muttered, turning back to the window.

It earned her a cuff on the ear. 

She yelped, clapped her hand over her ear and swivelled in her seat back towards Beckett who was keeping his gaze on his book but looked far too pleased with himself. She wondered if he actually was reading at all or was using it as a pretence to mess with her.

“What was that for?” she snapped, glowering at him.

“You may be Autarkis now, but that’s no excuse not to mind your elders, Young One,” he said dryly.

“Auta-what-now?”

“Autarkis. A Kindred who does not associate themselves with a sect, and does not swear fealty to any Prince, Bishop, or otherwise,” he explained flatly. “You all but declared yourself as such when you went up against Lacroix alone.”

“So you’re Autarkis?” 

She said the word slowly, getting a feel for it. It reminded her how little she really knew about the world she now lived in. She’d hit the ground running without anyone to explain any of these things to her, and every time a new word popped up she found herself feeling more lost than ever.

Beckett nodded.

“I realised early in my unlife that the politicking of the factions wasn’t for me. The decision to go independent was a simple one.”

“And it didn’t bother your sire?”

He just chuckled.

“Sometimes I forget how remarkably little you know. Gangrel sires are not the most reliant. In fact, your introduction to our world was, as your generation might say, ‘dumbed down’ compared to most Gangrel fledglings.”

“What do you mean?”

He closed sighed and closed his book, as if taking the time to explain was inconvenient somehow. But it was so exaggerated that there was no way it was entirely genuine. In fact she got the sense that part of him _enjoyed_ imparting information to someone willing to listen.

“Ordinarily a Gangrel sire will abandon their childe shortly after the Embrace. Those that survive prove themselves worthy of the time and effort required to train them. And those that perish have saved the sire the trouble of investing any time in them. In other words, even if your sire had received Sebastian’s permission to Embrace you, you would have had to work out the basics by yourself anyway.”

Evie balked.

“Are you _kidding_ me?!”

“Not at all. Are you still surprised that I don’t care to associate with our clan on the whole?” he asked flatly, arching a brow. 

There was a pause as Evie took in that information, and then tentatively asked, “so your sire abandoned you?”

“That’s correct. As your’s would have if he had fled before the Camarilla found you.”

“Is there a reason you keep turning the topic back to me, or am I just that fascinating to you?” she deadpanned, raising a brow.

“For all you know of me, I still know almost nothing about you beyond your general cluelessness,” he pointed out. “Is it wrong that I be a little curious?”

Evie frowned.

“I don’t know anything about you except that you study Kindred lore, you think Gehenna is a load of crap, and you’re independent. That’s not exactly knowing you, Beckett.”

“It’s still more than I know about you,” he said calmly. “I only know that you were Embraced without Sebastian’s permission, and that you have as many questions as any Fledgling in your position would. Oh, and you’re independent now too.”

“Well then we each know three things about each other. And none of those things are actually about each other.”

Beckett conceded with a tilt of his head.

“That’s a fair point. And while you’ve at least proven you know how to count-”

“Very funny.”

“-we have a long journey ahead of us, don’t we? Perhaps we should get to know each other better.”

Her frown deepened.

“Why do you care?”

“I told you, I don’t,” he said flatly. “But it’s a long journey east. We might as well have something to talk about.”

She paused, still wondering what exactly was going on in that head of his. He kept insisting he didn’t actually care, yet he’d taken the time to warn her not to open the Sarcophagus and believed she deserved a chance to escape whatever the consequences were. If he didn’t care then why take the time to do so when he could have been putting distance between himself and the Sarcophagus?

But he was right about the long trip. And how often did another Kindred actually take an interest in her beyond her usefulness?

“Okay. So where are you from?”

He smirked.

“Twenty questions, is it? Very well. I’m from Oxford myself. And you?”

“Northampton.”

“Well then we’re both a long way from home, aren’t we,” he chuckled. “How did you come to be in LA in the first place?”

“Hey, I didn’t get to ask you another question yet,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s not how the game works. What’s your favourite place that you’ve been to?”

And so they talked, taking it in turns to fire their questions back and forth as the journey went on. Fortunately Evie had found an empty train car so no one was around to hear some of the decidedly less mortal questions.

Surprisingly the next couple of hours went by without Evie really noticing. Partly because every now and then Beckett got caught up in an answer that led onto a tangential story about his adventures over the years which ended up with her hanging on his every word as he described terrible dangers, thrilling escapes, and the many things he’d learned. He seemed pleased to have a genuinely interested audience for once. Especially when she had questions that let him explain things in further detail. And sometimes just questions about some of the more incredulous things he’d done - or what she thought was incredulous anyway.

“You were really wanted dead in London because you got into a fight over some ancient text?” she exclaimed.

“Not because I got into a fight, but because I killed those I was fighting.” He shrugged. “For all I know the Camarilla there may still want me dead. I haven’t checked back in a while. But now it’s my turn to ask a question. And it’s not one you have to answer if you don’t want to.”

He gave her an unusually serious look.

“How exactly did your Sire come to Embrace you?”

She froze, her whole body locking up and she physically felt the colour draining from her face. Only a few seconds later did she find that she was having to fight down the need to throw up. 

“Beckett. Grenade,” she said in a very strained voice.

“I know. We Gangrel certainly have one of the most traumatic Embraces of all. It is an experience few survive.” She felt his hand settle on her shoulder, and despite the fact he was as dead as she was, the presence was warm and comforting. “It is intended to measure a person’s instinct to fight back and their will to live, and so is incredibly brutal. And you are very young. If you’d rather not talk about it, then that is fine. I will ask a different question.”

She shook her head and sniffed, all too aware she now had blood dripping from her eyes. One of the more shocking revelations she’d had the first time she’d cried after her Embrace. She was still getting used to it.

“I… I need to tell someone,” she said thickly as she tried to wipe the blood from her face. “I mean, you’re the only one who ever bothered to ask, so why not?”

Beckett offered her a handkerchief which she took gratefully and began to try and wipe the worst of the blood from her face. If a mortal were to walk in now and find her weeping blood, they’d have a whole new problem. Best to get it under control.

“I’d been out with my friends for an early Halloween Party. They weren’t underage like me, so they were able to sneak me into this club in Hollywood. We had been hanging out and drinking and dancing for a few hours when they went to go get some more drinks. While they were gone this. This guy came over. He started getting real creepy, so I told him to fuck off. He wouldn’t just leave me alone though and it started getting way too scary so I pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the hand. A bouncer came over, took my knife, and threw me out when I couldn’t prove I was of age.

“I didn’t want Sam and the others to know I’d fucked up, so I tried to sneak back in by breaking in the back. I was trying to pick the lock on the back door when the creepy guy suddenly grabbed me from behind and-”

She had to stop, to catch her breath and steel herself as she found herself back in that moment. 

She could feel the phantom claws sinking into her sides and ripping her away from the door. She felt herself being thrown to the ground, her skin splitting open wider upon impact as wet blood began soaking into her clothes. The stranger hunched over her neck, fangs digging in deep and clawed hands pinning her to the ground as she struggled in vain to keep her neck from being torn open. 

It was a blur and yet it was somehow crystal clear in her mind. The adrenaline racing through her veins as fear overtook her. Her feet kicking his chest, at his groin, at any part of him she could reach even as her strength failed her and the world began to fade away. She remembered dying in the worst way possible, helpless and afraid, an exhausted bleat for help, for her friends, for anyone to find her, dying in her throat as the darkness overcame her.

“It was the worst kind of pain I’d ever felt. I was scared. I was dying. I wanted it to stop. I tried so hard to get away from him. I wanted to scream for Sam to come help me but I ended up blacking out instead. When I came to… I was. I was lying on a bed in some shitty apartment. And he was just. Sitting there. All pleased with himself and shit, waiting for me to wake up. For a second I thought he’d. That he’d-”

She felt his hand settle on her shoulder reassuringly as a fresh sob wracked her body and more bloody tears rolled down her face. The handkerchief was gently pried from her hands as Beckett dabbed at the tears himself.

“You don’t need to finish,” he said with a surprising gentleness that was a far cry from his usual sarcasm.

“No. No, I do,” she insisted, swallowing. “He just sat there, waiting for me to wake up. He was about to say something before the Camarilla burst in, staked us both, and dragged us to the theatre for that trial. And when they executed him… It felt _good_. I was so scared, I had no clue what was happening or what had been done to me, but nothing was more satisfying than seeing him get what he had coming for what he did to me.”

A chilling silence settled over the train car as she said that and Beckett stared at her, for once at a loss for words. He probably regretted asking in the first place, even if she couldn’t begin to hazard a guess as to _why_ he’d ask that question specifically. 

No one wanted to hear about one of the most harrowing experiences of her life or see her falling to pieces over it. Especially not Beckett. He had more important things to be thinking about than her tragedies.

She felt pathetic, even as he cautiously, and a little awkwardly, placed an arm around her shoulders. She didn’t resist, just let herself lean into him. When was the last time someone had willingly given her comfort like this? She couldn’t remember.

“Sorry,” she croaked. “Being stupid.”

“No. You’re not.”

His voice was firm. Still no trace of his usual sarcasm or sardonic tones, just that absolute firm certainty that she was sure she’d not heard before. He didn’t withdraw. Not even when Evie drew back, wiping her eyes and nose as they dripped blood.

“Sorry,” she repeated.

“Don’t be. This is a perfectly reasonable response,” he said. “Every Gangrel has gone through what you experienced, and none are left completely unaffected by it.”

“Not even you?”

“Not even me.”

More silence. Beckett’s hand was still on her shoulder, so she cautiously leaned back into him. He didn’t say anything or reprimand her, which she took as silent permission. She’d not realised her Embrace was typical for a Gangrel, and she wondered how it had changed Beckett. What had he been like before he was changed? Was he always full of snark and cynicism, or had that come later? Like a defense mechanism.

She wanted to ask, but they were verging on daybreak and she was exhausted. Her whole body suddenly felt heavy and she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Get some sleep,” Beckett said gently. “We can talk some more tonight.”

She nodded sleepily and rested her head against his shoulder, let her eyes slide shut, and in an instant she was out like a light.

[]

At that same moment a Ventrue by the name of Roy rose from the day sleep as he did every night. He stepped out of bed and dressed into a crisp, clean suit before departing from his bedchamber and made his way through the crumbling halls of the estate with such a practised ease that it seemed automatic. And in truth it was. He didn’t even need to recognise the chunks of rubble in his path, just glided around it with as little thought as blinking.

To any other Ventrue, stalking the crumbling remains of a castle long since abandoned might seem lowly, but as it so happened Roy liked it perfectly fine as it was. Prey might not be as frequent as those National Trust estates, but those that could pluck up the courage to venture within were so much more delectable than the typical tourists that would otherwise poke around his home. And there were always other means of obtaining the sustenance he required.

But as dilapidated as the castle appeared to be, there were parts of it that were more than well preserved.

The ghouls hurried to pull the heavy oak doors to the conference room open before he was even half way down the hall. He could almost _smell_ the fear on them. They knew better than to keep him waiting.

Inside the room would be pitch black to any mortal, but to his kindred senses he could see the conference table in sharp relief. It stood down the centre of the hall with mostly empty chairs stood on either side and with a throne at his end of the room. At the opposite end was not another chair, but rather a monitor. And if one looked above the chairs, they would see even more monitors. One over each chair.

Today only three seats were currently occupied. Victoria sat to the throne’s left, whereas Delilah and Leon sat opposite one another closer to the middle of the table. The three of his childer who were present greeted him with a bow of their heads as he seated himself in his throne.

“Good evening, my children,” he greeted. “I trust we will not be expecting Lisa at this hour?”

“Not in person, Father,” Victoria said primly, hands folded on the table top. “However, the ghoul reports-”

“Names Victoria,” Roy interrupted coyly. “We must ensure the help feels appreciated… Lest they drain us dry in our sleep.”

“Of course Father, forgive me. Ahem. Rhys reports that Lisa sent a message earlier today to be received by you at your convenience. Apparently it is rather urgent.”

“I see. Then we shall attend to it with urgency. But first.” He looked over Delilah and Leon. “Do we have anything to report… _closer_ to home?”

“Yes Father,” Leon began. “The gh- Alex and Alicia reported troublemakers at the border of the estate earlier today. They have been detained in the dungeon, to be indulged upon at your leisure.”

“I see. Thank you Leon. Perhaps, as there are few enough, we might even dine as a family tonight,” he said with a not insincere warmth as he looked over his childer, though it was practiced and not at all instinctual. “Now. Regarding Lisa’s message.”

Delilah simply nodded and the monitor at the end of the table flickered to life and a pretty, dark haired woman appeared on the screen. Her appearance, however, was frazzled, and she had the look of someone who had been working a long, intensive shift that proved very unforgiving.

“Father, brothers, and sisters who may or may not be in attendance,” she began. “I regret to report that the situation here in Los Angeles has spiralled out of control. Yesterday night the girl was declared a traitor and the Prince called for a Blood Hunt. Kindred from all over the region were eager for the chance to spill her blood and all but poured into the city. Tonight, however, she has-”

Lisa took a deep breath as if all but choking back tears. It was rare to see her so emotional.

“The Prince is dead. The tower and sarcophagus destroyed in an explosion,” she said thickly. “The girl is gone. I do not know where. She does not appear to be among the Anarchs, but according to the Anarch Leader, Nines Rodriguez, she _did_ survive and then departed. As of now I have no idea where she is. I will continue my search, and hope you are able to provide me with your guidance as soon as you are able. Please Father… Forgive me.”

The message ended and Lisa’s face was replaced by darkness once again.

Roy raised a brow and laced his hands together, resting his elbows on the table.

“Ah.”

The three childer exchanged an uncomfortable glance, and Victoria looked the most uncomfortable as she was seated closest to him. For a long while Roy said nothing, merely contemplated.

“Send word to Lisa that there is nothing to forgive. The girl has always wild and unpredictable. If anything I should have anticipated she would cause such trouble, as she has always been prone,” he said in a measured voice. “However, inform Lisa that she is not to continue her pursuit. If anything she will only get herself killed. Her instructions are to seek out any allies that the girl may have had in the city. Someone she trusts or cares for. Someone easily turned and poisoned, whose betrayal will hurt her, but can be disposed of quickly if necessary. Knowing her, there’s undoubtedly plenty of disgusting little creatures who will suit that end.”

Delilah nodded and reached under the table. She produced a sheet of parchment and an inkwell pen and immediately began to write.

“Leon, I’m sending you to Egypt,” he added. 

The youngest childe perked up.

“What is my task, Father?”

“Make contact with the Assamites in Cairo and see if they are amenable to a potential future contract… Just in case. As for you Delilah, you will see to your usual duties for now. Is that agreeable?”

“Yes Father.”

“Then I believe this evening’s meeting is adjourned. Unless there is anything else anyone wishes to report?”

There was a pause before Delilah raised her hand. Roy nodded.

“According to my intelligence, Father, the girl has had contact with Beckett.”

Roy raised a brow.

“The scholar? Interesting. He has a habit of turning up in the strangest of places,” he remarked. “Keep your ear to that, my dear, and let me know if anything comes of it.”

“Yes Father.”

“Very good. Now.” He raised to his feet, looking around at his children with that sam cultivated ease. “I believe it is time for breakfast.”

And with that he led the three from the room.

[]

When Evie came to it was nighttime again. The first thing she registered was a weight pressing over on her. It was strangely warm and comfortable and she brought her knees up to her chest, curling up beneath whatever it was. 

She knew she should really get up already, but the sooner she opened her eyes, the sooner she’d have to deal with Lacroix’s latest chores. And she _really_ didn’t want to have to deal with him right now. She just wanted to stay curled up here under this blanket - presuming that’s what this comfortable pressure was coming from - and forget the innumerable responsibilities that would surely be thrust upon her the second she rose from her bed.

It took a few minutes, but she started to wonder what that rocking motion was. Was it an earthquake? ...No, it didn’t feel like one. And this didn’t feel like her bed either.

She rolled onto her side and her face pressed against cold glass.

With a flinch she bolted upright, throwing off the blanket and eyes snapping open as her mind raced at a mile a minute. Was it the Sabbat? Had they found her? Kidnapped her? Then she slowed down. The Sabbat didn’t make a habit of giving blankets to their prisoners… And she didn’t _think_ they transported them without guards on a public train.

Gathering herself, Evie slowed her breathing - not that she needed to breathe at all, considering that she was dead - and took in her surroundings. She was alone in an empty train car with all the blinds drawn over the windows. She looked down at the blanket only to realise it wasn’t a blanket at all. It was a long, brown trench coat that she was very familiar with by now.

Right. Beckett. He’d been leaving LA. Just like she had been. 

It was all coming back to her now. Lacroix had died in the explosion at the top of Venture Tower, the LA Sabbat was in chaos in the wake of the deaths of the Ductesses, Hazel and Victoria, and what remained of the Kuei-Jin were floundering without Ming Xiao to guide them. And now she was running away before anyone had a chance to stop her.

She groaned, pressing her face into her hands and running them back through her hair. They came away black. She was still absolutely filthy from the destruction of the Venture Tower. She really needed a shower at some point. At the very least she could clean up a little in the bathroom. 

A quick glance around revealed that Beckett was definitely absent. Perhaps he’d gone to feed on sleeping Kine somewhere else while she slept.

She got up out of her seat and headed for the toilet at the end of the car. It was vacant, as expected, and she slipped inside, turning the lock to ‘occupied.’ The first thing she did was run some water to wash off her hands before splashing some in her face.

The greasy ash was reluctant to come away at first and it felt like she was making little progress even though the sink was quickly turning black. Her hair didn’t fare much better. It was scraggly and oily and thick with soot, and she knew she’d need a real shower to sort that mess out. 

She peeled off her jacket and hoodie and, with a wad of wet tissue paper, started wiping away the dried blood from around her now-healed wounds. After a few minutes she felt something approaching presentable. She still needed a good shower to feel completely clean, but it was an improvement.

As she started to clean up her mess of black soot stains and wet, grotty tissues, someone knocked on the door and she jumped.

“Are you in there?” Beckett called gruffly through the door, and she sighed in relief.

“Yeah, just cleaning up. I’ll be done in a minute.”

He didn’t say anything else, just walked away and Evie finished throwing away the wet tissues and scrubbing the soot from the sink before stepping back out into the car.

Beckett was sitting in his seat, his coat folded over his lap. As she approached he held out a water bottle to her. Except it wasn’t filled with water. He gave her the bottle of blood before she edged past him back into her seat.

“At least you don’t look like you’ve been dragged backwards through a bonfire anymore,” he remarked. “I was starting to wonder if that was some new fashion trend you were trying out.”

Evie just rolled her eyes and lifted the bottle to her lips. When the blood hit her tongue, the Beast inside gave a guttural roar of pleasure, and within seconds she had chugged the whole thing down. She hadn’t realised how _hungry_ she had been, how the Beast had been clawing at the back of her throat, aching for sustenance, especially after her episode of bloody tears the night before. Everything else had been such a mess of thoughts and brain static that she’d barely even noticed it there.

But for now it was sated once more and it settled contentedly inside, purring quite happily.

“Hungry, were we?” Beckett commented with a raised brow and a curled lip. “Maybe it was a good thing I decided to bring you some breakfast. I’d hate if you’d guzzled a passenger the way you did that bottle.”

She flushed a little, but simply handed the empty bottle back with a murmured thank you before lowering the blinds from the window. Outside the world was black as night, the sky overhead glittering with stars. They were easy to miss in LA with all the city lights drowning them out. It was true of most places, and it wasn’t long before she found herself enthralled by them.

Beckett, who had his book out again, gave her a fondly amused glance, then rolled his eyes and got on with his reading.

“You still haven’t told me what you plan to do next,” he pointed out about an hour later when stargazing had gotten boring and Evie was obviously feeling restless.

She looked around at him and then stared down at her hands in her lap feeling embarrassed. Mostly because there was no way he didn't know that there was no plan. 

All she'd been thinking about for the last hour was what to do next and no good ideas came to mind. Staying in the US seemed like a bad idea. She had no idea how other members of the Camarilla would react to Lacroix’s death, so leaving felt like the safer option. But then where after that? Back home to the UK where no one wanted her? And how was she supposed to secure a haven anyway? She was underage and while a couple hundred dollars felt like a lot, in the grand scheme of things it really wasn’t. It was unlikely that anyone would rent a place out to her, and even if they did she wouldn't be able to afford it. 

In other words, she still had no plan at all. 

“Yeah… The only real plan I’ve got right now is to get as far away from LA as possible… I was kinda hoping the train journey would help me figure out step two but… no dice,” she admitted.

“I see. Well then how about I make you an offer. Why not come with me?”

She had expected sarcasm. Even if she hadn't hallucinated Beckett’s firm but kind reassurances the previous night, and hadn't imagined that he'd given her his coat as a blanket, he was still Beckett. Making snide remarks about everyone and putting them in their place with a sharp jab of cynical wit was apparently half of his personality. At least that's what she had thought before. He certainly didn’t strike her as the type to take companions. Or at least he hadn’t until he told her about Lucita, Anatole, and Okulos.

“With you?” she repeated. 

He shrugged.

“I have a lot of work to do, and sometimes things get a little tedious. I could use an assistant, and you’ve got a long way to go before you’re ready to make it in this world as an Autarkis,” he explained idly. “I think it could be a mutually beneficial arrangement. You assist me with my research, and I will serve as your adoptive sire. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

She hesitated. 

“What would being your assistant entail?” she asked slowly. 

“You'd accompany me on my travels, help me to organise my research, maybe run the occasional errand, that sort of thing. And in return I'll provide any guidance and training you might require, a haven, and maybe even pocket money if you behave yourself.”

There was that familiar sarcasm, and she couldn't resist snorting. That was more like the Beckett she knew. 

But she couldn't help turning the idea over in her head. It wasn't a bad offer. In fact it was probably the best one she was going to get. He was offering to take her on, to teach her what she needed to know, even though he really didn't need to. 

And she could trust him not to use her like Lacroix did. Like Ming Xiao had tried to. Like Nines or Strauss or Therese would have, given the opportunity. 

Beckett had no political angle, just the drive to learn the truth about the origins in the Kindred. It was an admirable goal. And helping him achieve it certainly beat blowing up warehouses and robbing museums for a power-hungry Ventrue. 

So she extended a hand. 

“When do I start?” 

Beckett smirked, took her hand, and shook it firmly. 

“As soon as we reach the haven. It should be waiting for us at the Phoenix Airport.”

Evies grin dropped into a confused frown. 

“Waiting for us?”

Beckett just smirked. 

“You'll see when we get there. Speaking of which.”

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a cell-phone and flipped it open. He typed something into it, though Evie wasn’t able to get a proper look before he snapped it shut and tucked it back into his pocket.

“Just need to make sure Cesare is actually doing his job for once,” he grumbled disdainfully.

“Cesare?”

“My ghoul.” He all but spat the word, looking rather disgusted. “Personally I don’t care for them. If anything I pity them. To be a ghoul is to be enslaved to the one who creates them.”

“ _Enslaved_?” Evie balked.

“Yes. After that first taste of blood, the ghoul becomes… addicted, for lack of a better word. It creates a blood bond between vampire and ghoul that is reflective of master and slave. A ghoul will do anything their master requires of them, no matter how degrading, because it is their means of securing more.”

Something icy dropped right into the pit of her stomach. Knox and Mercurio certainly hadn’t mentioned that little detail when talking about their respective deals with Tung and the Camarilla. If they had…

Heather had always seemed overly clingy, but Evie just thought that she was being overly grateful for what happened at the Clinic. In the time that they’d lived together Heather had always been like a big sister, trying her hardest to provide Evie with whatever she needed, even when she wasn’t asked to do so. 

Sure it had seemed odd that she was so ready to drop out of school - which they had argued about for over an hour before Heather agreed to continue her studies - but some people were just like that. Evie had seen it before. They were so eager to please they would put their whole life on hold for someone else if they thought it was to be asked of them. She just figured Heather was one of those people.

But to think that her blood had done that to her… That one act of compassion had driven her to behave in that way… The very idea made her _sick_.

Perhaps it was best never to mention it to Beckett.

“So why keep Cesare around if you don’t like ghouls?” she asked, trying to steer her mind away from Heather before he could get suspicious.

“Because I am regretfully in need of him. You’ll understand when we reach the airport,” he said simply, indicating he’d say nothing more on the matter. 

Then his phone buzzed and he pulled it out to check.

“Hm. And he just managed to earn his keep.” He put it away again. “We should be arriving at the station soon enough. Cesare will be waiting for us there. So, if there’s anything else you want to ask, you should do so now.”

She contemplated for a moment. They’d spoken at length the previous night about themselves and their experiences. He clearly had far more than she did, but for all their talking there was one experience she had spoken of that he hadn’t. Or at least he hadn’t in any substantial capacity.

“Last night, when I told you about when I was Embraced, you said no Gangrel is unaffected by it. Not even you,” she said slowly. “Can I ask about…?”

He sighed and, for the first time since they’d met, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. She supposed it shouldn’t be a surprise. If her Embrace had been typical then it wasn’t any fonder a memory for him either. But he’d asked about her’s, so it was fair that she ask the same.

“It was a very long time ago,” he said, suddenly sounding exhausted. “Just a little over three hundred years, though I forget the precise number. I was working at Oxford University as a lecturer at the time, though I spent more time researching than I did teaching. One night I’d stayed in late, working through some unusual texts that the university had acquired. I nearly fell asleep at my desk when a cleaner insisted I head home for the night.”

He laughed hollowly. 

“If not for that bit of advice, I might not be here right now.”

“You were attacked on your way home?”

He nodded, smiling grimly.

“Yes. I had decided to take the scenic route, close to the woods. Clearing my head, so to speak, so I'd be able to take another crack at those texts the next day. That’s when I got the sense that someone was watching me. Just past the trees. When I couldn’t see anything, I thought it was just the exhaustion from having worked so late. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was someone there. Watching and waiting.

“Finally I tried to confront my stalker, demanded they show themselves. There was a moment of silence and the next thing I knew, I was on the ground being ripped apart. Teeth and claws were tearing into me, and no matter how hard I fought back, my attacker was not dissuaded. They were relentless. I knew I wouldn’t survive. In that moment, all I could do was pray for some kind of miracle. And the next thing I knew I was in a house I didn’t recognise with no memory of how I got there, covered in blood that wasn’t mine, and standing over the bodies of the innocents I had slaughtered. Not quite the typical idea of a miracle I’m sure...”

He trailed off and Evie was left without any idea of what to say. As if there was anything she _could_ say in the face of that without them sounding like needless platitudes. So rather than fumble for words she tentatively wrapped her arm around his and rested her head against his shoulder. He huffed but didn’t try to shift her off or push her away. For a while they were silent, sitting there together as the world went by outside.

“Is that normal? For your sire to just leave you to… kill like that?” she asked quietly.

“It’s part of the test, and a reason that most Gangrel Fledglings don’t survive their first night. Those that can’t gain control quickly enough continue their frenzy until they’re put down by police or hunters… Or by the rising sun.” 

He glanced down at her. 

“It is supposed to determine how quickly one can grasp the nature of their situation and adapt quickly enough to survive on instinct.”

“It’s still awful,” she muttered. “I’d never want to do that to anyone.”

Beckett chuckled and clapped his hand over her’s affectionately as he met her gaze. She found herself startled for a second; it was the first time she’d ever seen his eyes properly without the sunglasses. They were a vivid scarlet that almost seemed to glow, with cat-like slits for pupils.

“Promise me one thing, Young One,” he said. “ _Never_ stop thinking that way.”

“Huh?”

She looked up at him frowning slightly, wondering if he was making fun of her. But he was just smiling fondly back at her, his hand still clasped over her’s.

“I’ve seen some of the most docile, respected colleagues become emotionless killers within a few decades,” he explained. “It’s tempting to give in. To resist struggling. It’s easy to remember you’re a walking corpse. Try to forget. Compassion and empathy have their place in this world, so try to hold onto them.”

She still felt a bit bemused, but just shrugged and rested her head against his shoulder again. 

Maybe sticking Beckett really was for the best. There were far worse Kindred out there. And far worse sires.

[]

“I see. Yes, of course. Right away. Yes… Yes, I understand. Yes, thank you. Good evening, Founder.”

Therese set the phone down back into its receiver, and if she was in anyway inclined to behave like a schoolgirl as Jeanette so often was, she might just squeal for joy. A Prince. Her! And barely a night had passed since that ruckus downtown.

Of course the Camarilla had made a hasty decision. They needed to install a Prince before the Anarchs got any ideas about retaking their city, but even so they had chosen _her_! 

Prince Therese Voerman. Were she so inclined, she would feel giddy.

“Ooh, someone’s actually enjoying themselves,” Jeanette cooed.

Therese immediately stopped dead and let her face fall back into its neutral position.

“Being a Prince is not something someone _enjoys_ , Jeanette,” she said coolly. “It is a weighty responsibility, one that is not to be treated as-”

She was cut off by Jeanette all but draping herself across her shoulders.

“Oh come now, Therese,” she purred. “You’re _loving_ this, and you should! It’s what you’ve always wanted, what you’ve worked so hard for... and it means I get to have even more fun.”

“Of course that’s your concern,” Therese huffed, removing Jeanette from her person. 

She might be dead but she could still feel her skin crawl at the contact, even if it was her own sister initiating said contact.

“Just remember, Jeanette, this is an opportunity to do _real_ things. Not your chance to continue playing as some kind of bargain bin… what’s-her-name,” she waved dismissively, retreating back around - no, returning to - her desk and sitting herself in her seat. 

She’d be lying if she said it didn’t suddenly feel like a throne.

“Harley Quinn? Come _on_ Therese, if you’re going to compare me to comic book characters you need to at least remember their names,” Jeanette teased, seating herself on the edge of the desk. “Besides, the things I do _are_ real things. Stuffy old Hardestadt chose you because you know how to put up with me. If you can do that, then obviously you can take the reigns of a city that’s bound to be going up in flames for the next few nights.”

Therese sniffed and tried to ignore how her back straightened a little at that. Much as she was loathe to admit it, Jeanette had a point. Lacroix’s death had undoubtedly thrown the city into chaos, and chaos was an advantage the Anarchs could make use of. And chaos was Jeanette’s game. So if Therese could handle Jeanette even in the wake of… the incident, she could easily tame Los Angeles.

“Oh, and don’t forget our scrummy little friend!” Jeanette chirped. When Therese raised a quizzical brow, she added, “you know, Duckling! Sebastian tried _so_ hard to pin everything on her. No sense in letting him do it in death, right?”

“Ah yes, the Blood Hunt. Thank you for reminding me Jeanette, I’ll see to it that it’s repealed at once. Though I doubt we’ll have time to find Evie and inform her…”

“You might not, with half the city on fire, but maybe when you’re not looking-”

“Absolutely not.” Therese rose to her feet. “If anyone can pull a few strings and keep the Anarchs from burning my club to the ground to preserve the Free State, it’s you. I need you here, Jeanette.”

Jeanette blinked, staring up at Therese with those big mismatching eyes.

“Aw, Therese!” Again she threw her arms around Therese, and Therese had to do her best to suppress a shudder. “You know, it’s a shame we have to play as enemies to everyone else. I do miss when we could just be best friends.”

Therese hesitated, then rested a hand on top of Jeanette’s head.

“I know, sister,” she sighed. “But such is the way of things. Besides, once this mess is straightened out, this city will be in our pocket. We might well be the best hope it has.”

“Aw look at you, being all optimistic. I knew you had something loving left in that cold rotten heart of your’s.”

Therese promptly pushed Jeanette away.

“And now you’ve ruined it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Blood Hunt to call off.”


	2. New Beginnings

The train pulled into the station a couple of hours before daybreak, which put them on a tight schedule for getting to the airport before the sun came up. Evie followed at Beckett’s heels as they made their way off the platform into the station proper. There weren’t many humans about, but they were still present in a few other late night passengers and the station employees. None of them really paid the pair any mind though. Not until they got outside and a man in a plain black flight suit waved them over.

“Signore Beckett,” he greeted. “So very good to see you whole and well.”

“Cesare.” He stopped and turned to Evie. “This is my new assistant, the one I told you about. She will be accompanying us for the foreseeable future.”

Cesare turned to her with raised eyebrows, giving her a cursory glance over that made her feel more than a little self-conscious about the fact her clothes were still completely filthy and her hair was a ragged mess. But he said nothing about either of those things and extended a hand.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Byrne.”

“Evie will do, thanks,” she replied, shaking his hand.

“So this is the young lady you had me fly to Phoenix for, Signore? I could have picked the both of you up at LAX no trouble,” he pointed out, looking back at Beckett.

Evie frowned.

“What do you mean, you could have picked us up in LA?” she asked.

“It’s where I dropped Signore Beckett off, and where I was to await his return. Then all of a sudden he informs me I was to fly to Phoenix to pick him up along with his new companion,” Cesare explained, either oblivious to Beckett’s growing displeasure or simply not caring. “It’s hardly anything new for Signore, but even so-”

“Need I remind you both that we have two hours at the most before sunrise,” Beckett cut over irritably.

“Ah, of course. My apologies Signore.” 

Cesare led them across the carpark where a rented car was waiting for them. Cesare got in the driver’s seat and Beckett got in the back. So Evie joined him, still feeling a little bemused, and they started the journey to the airport.

“I did worry for you, Signore,” Cesare remarked. “When you called, the situation sounded as if it must have been quite dire. And then there was the explosion-”

“Well as you can see, Cesare, I’m _fine_ ,” Beckett impressed irritably. “Now if you could perhaps focus on driving the car.”

“Of course, Signore.”

They lapsed into silence, at which point Evie turned to Beckett and raised a brow.

“So Cesare was waiting for you in LA, and you just happened to decide you needed to catch the same train to Phoenix as me because…?”

“The situation in Los Angeles was a delicate if not downright dangerous one. I figured it was best to put some distance between myself and the city to ensure I wasn’t being pursued by the Camarilla before getting Cesare involved,” he replied coolly. “The last thing I needed was for anyone to believe I could have been in any way involved in Sebastian’s death.”

“Really? Because you gave me your warning and ran off the night _before_ shit went down with Lacroix, yet you and I still ended up on the same train on the same night because of what, random chance?”

“Never underestimate the power of random chance, Young One.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“Or maybe you’re putting too much thought into this.”

She leaned back at the nook between the seat and the door, looking from Cesare to Beckett. The former was keeping his eyes on the road, but was undoubtedly listening in even if he didn’t intend to interject, whereas the latter was making a point of staring out the window and watching the city go by, evidently done with talking for one night. 

There was no way she was putting too much thought into this. No matter what he said or what excuses he made for himself, Beckett had purposefully sought her out on that train last night. At the time she’d been too caught up in her own mess to think about it seriously, but the more she thought about it the less sense his story made. He gave her his warning and apparently departed the city, and it wasn’t until the following night that Xiao and Lacroix were killed. He could have put a decent amount of distance between himself and LA in that time, enough that the Camarilla wouldn’t have suspected a thing when - as E had charitably put it - the jack came out of the box. 

So why wait until she was leaving? Wouldn’t involving himself with her, taking her on as his adoptive childe, just implicate him in Lacroix’s death? The very thing he claimed he was avoiding? 

Perhaps he was just too proud to admit to caring, but did he really think that his story would hold together once she actually stopped to think about it?

It annoyed her for reasons she couldn’t quite explain and she could feel the Beast growling at the bars of its cage in response to the irritation. She pushed down the feeling. No need to go getting all riled up just because he was being a dick about it.

Besides, it wasn’t like he was the only one available for conversation.

“So how did you meet Beckett, Cesare?” she asked, quickly becoming aware that Beckett was now glowering at her from the corner of his eye.

“Ah, it was several decades ago now, Miss Byrne,” he replied fondly. “We met in Venice, I believe, when Signore Beckett was in need of a person of my particular skills. I was out of work and a slave to the bottle, so to speak. Signore Beckett changed my life in ways I could scarcely describe.”

Beckett’s glower deepened as Cesare continued to wax lyrical about him, and though it had seemed funny for a second, Evie recalled what he had said about ghouls.

 _‘_ _To be a ghoul is to be enslaved to the one who creates them. After that first taste of blood, the ghoul becomes… addicted, for lack of a better word. It creates a blood bond between vampire and ghoul that is reflective of master and slave._ _’_

And in an instant it became very unfunny to hear Cesare heaping praise upon praise upon an obviously unhappy Beckett, mostly because he was undoubtedly experiencing the same disgust she felt growing in the pit of her stomach and she felt guilty for prompting this clearly uncomfortable situation in the first place. 

It was swiftly accompanied by a fresh wave of guilt for what she had done to Heather. How she had, however unwittingly and well-meant, bound the young woman to her as a slave when all she’d been trying to do was save her life.

‘ _At least now you’ll think twice before you go giving random mortals your blood_ ,’ a snide voice sneered in the back of her mind.

Evie shut that voice up immediately. She hadn’t known better and she’d meant well. At least she now had someone who could explain things to her so she could make better decisions going forwards. And with any luck Heather hadn’t been on the blood long enough to form a serious addiction and would be able to move on with her life now Evie was out of it.

That hope would have to be enough.

By the time they arrived at the airport the first lights of dawn were beginning to colour the horizon and as they crossed to the runway at the furthest end of the airfield a sudden wave of lethargy washed over Evie. If it wasn’t for Beckett pressing a hand to the small of her back, urging her forwards, she might have ended up curled up in the middle of the airfield waiting for the sun to rise. That would have been bad.

In fact she was so exhausted that she didn’t register that waiting for them was a private jet parked on the tarmac. 

Later, when she was awake and fully conscious, she would wonder where the hell Beckett had gotten the funds to afford such a thing but the threat of the rising sun had slowed her mind to a sluggish pace and left her desperate for sleep rather than answers. Beckett had to half guide her up the steps and through the door as Cesare settled himself in the cockpit. 

The second they were aboard she dropped down onto the nearest seat and promptly passed out.

[]

Earlier that night, Lisa had received her new orders. She had felt perplexed. After all, what was the point of finding a new pawn in LA when the girl was no longer there? But she decided against questioning Roy’s orders. Knowing him, he had plans and now wasn’t the time to be trying to figure them out. 

So she got on with the task.

Namely the task of finding someone that meant something to the girl. Someone they could use and turn against her, but could be disposed of at a moment’s notice. Easier said than done.

She started by compiling the names of all the people the girl had ever interacted with in LA. 

The Anarchs were the first to be struck from the list. According to the local gossip she and Nines Rodriguez had parted on less than amicable terms. Lisa had heard everything from the girl walking away in silence to an outright brawl. Nines himself had been... ‘unavailable’ for comment. In other words, he had stonewalled everyone who asked for the story. 

Even Damsel refused to say much, and she was reputed for having a loud opinion on everything.

The next from the list were the Voerman sisters. 

Therese was now the Prince of a city verging in the midst of political unrest, and would likely be more interested in securing her position. Not to mention the girl was practically the reason Therese had obtained the throne as quickly as she had. 

And even if Jeanette wasn’t nearly as fond of the girl as she was, she was too much of a wild card.

Tung? The girl didn’t like him all that much. The Nosferatu? Not a chance they could be played. Nor could Strauss for that matter. In fact, many of the Kindred in the city would probably be useless to her purpose. Even Velvet Velour wasn’t a particularly strong candidate, and she was also known to be fond of the girl. She might be soft compared to most Kindred, but she had her wits about her.

No… She’d have to look to the ghouls for this one.

She paused for thought then immediately struck Mercurio from the list. He was under investigation on suspicion of helping the girl. That implied a degree of loyalty that was enough to override his loyalty to the Camarilla, even if it only went as far as providing weapons.

Vandal Cleaver purportedly held a grudge after some sort of incident with a thinblood, which might have made him perfect… if the girl didn’t hate him as much as he hated her. Not to mention he belonged to Therese.

Another cross on the list and Lisa was starting to feel vaguely desperate. At this rate her only option would be-!

She groaned when she realised that it was the only name left unchecked. She’d really hoped she wouldn’t have to stoop as low as this. It wasn’t like he would be that useful anyway. He belonged to Tung. But the girl was known to speak with him… Maybe he knew something that had eluded her own sources so far.

It really wasn’t ideal, but what choice did she have? She couldn’t fail now, not after losing track of the girl in the first place.

Lisa climbed into the first available cab and instructed the driver to take her to Santa Monica. He did exactly that and stopped outside of the Asylum. She repaid him with a kiss to the neck, and feeling nicely sated, she entered the club.

Knox Harrington was sitting at a table, alone and distanced from the other patrons, on the upper floor of the club when Lisa approached him. His eyes lit up as she swaggered over and slid into the chair opposite him.

“Hey girl, what’s up?” he asked in his famously perky voice.

If it wasn’t for that calculated look in his eye, she might have thought him nothing more than an idiot. Good thing her sources kept her well informed. She drew on the blood and left her presence wash over him.

“I was hoping you might be able to help me,” she purred as his pupils dilated as her power took hold. “I was hoping to find someone… A friend of a friend…”

“Yeah… W-who were you hoping to find?” he stammered as his face turned red.

She slipped a hand over his caressing his warm skin gently.

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” she continued. “You know Evie?”

He nodded.

“Well I need to find a friend of her’s… Someone… gentle. Vulnerable. Malleable. Someone she’d _hate_ to lose...”

She pressed her presence a little harder against his will. He’d been on guard, but no mortal could really be prepared for the full power of the Presence Discipline. She commanded, he obeyed.

“Oh sure… Well. I uh, I think I know someone like that.”

He was utterly enthralled. In fact Lisa was sure she could have stabbed him and he’d not only have thanked her but begged her to do it again. She flipped his hand so the palm lay open facing the ceiling, and she ran her other hand over it so she was clasping his hand between her own. 

Without hesitating he laid his free hand on top.

“Could you tell me?”

She exerted the blood a little more and the Beast growled. She hushed it gently. A little more, and then she could feed from the sorry fool.

“Sure. Her name is Heather. She and Evie were roommates,” he explained, a little eagerly. “Heather moved in after the warehouse went up. She’s still living there, I think.”

“And they were roommates,” Lisa breathed in delight, eyelids drooping seductively. “Oh yes, please tell me more darling.”

“Well Heather. She’s like me, a ghoul you know? Except I don’t think she’s been fed in a while,” he explained. “She came to me, asking if I had seen Evie for the last couple of nights. I hadn’t, but I promised I’d ask my master to look into it, find out what happened, and let her know… But yeah, she really didn’t look good.”

“I see… Thank you so very much, darling, you’ve been such a help.” Her lip curled and she leaned over the table. “I think you’ve earned your reward. Now you just need to… _Forget_.”

She left the Asylum fully sated and feeling very pleased with herself as she relayed her find to Delilah. She knew where the girl’s haven had been. It wouldn’t be hard to find this underfed ghoul.

[]

Heather had never experienced a withdrawal before. She had never even _looked_ at a drug in her life, let alone taken any, but there was nothing else this could be.

The mirror was not kind in its assessment of her. Her skin was white, but not like porcelain. It was rather more like wax, and stretched so tight over her bones that she looked emaciated. It was like no matter what she ate, it was never enough for her body and she kept shrinking in on herself. Her hair was dry and dull and hung limply from her head no matter how many combinations of treatments she tried. Her lips were dried and cracked, and bled frequently now. And her eyes… They didn’t seem to catch the light anymore, leaving them lifeless, almost dead looking. They were sunken and the sockets were bruised so dark it looked like she’d been punched.

Her friends noticed the change. They pestered her regularly, urging her to see the nurse at the campus clinic, all while begging her to let them know if she needed anything.

Well Heather needed something alright. But she couldn’t think for the life of her what it was.

Sick of what the mirror insisted on showing her, Heather flicked the light switch and stepped out of the bathroom. She had to catch the doorframe to steady herself as another dizzy spell washed over her.

For a long few minutes she stood there waiting for it to pass. 

These spells were lasting longer, she realised when she finally found the strength to walk upright again. And with them came that insatiable craving, that _longing_ for Evie to be there again. 

Not that that was the only way she felt about Evie these days. Sometimes she hoped Evie never came back. Those mood swings in particular left her feeling awful after they abated, but part of her felt vindicated. Justified.

Heather had loved Evie, treated her like a little sister. She cooked, she cleaned, she gave her _money_ , and then one night Evie left the apartment and never came home. No text, no note, no warning. She was just gone. And yet when Heather went to the police to report the disappearance, they just looked at her like _she_ was the crazy one and told her that Evie Byrne had died two months prior in some kind of attack behind a club in Hollywood. Her body had never been found, but from the evidence found at the crime scene, there was no doubt she couldn’t have possibly survived the blood loss let alone anything else that had been done to her.

So Heather went to Evie’s friend, Knox, and he just shrugged his shoulders and said he’d have a word with his ‘master’ and get back to her when he had something. Then he said something about ‘us ghouls have to stick together’, like he was making an inside joke that she was supposed to get. 

She wasn’t sure she liked Knox, or the fact Evie spoke with him. He seemed friendly enough but she knew that anyone could play the part convincingly enough. And something about him just seemed… off.

Carefully, Heather picked her way across the apartment, careful not to trip on the strewn clothes or empty pizza boxes, and dropped down onto the bed in the corner. 

Her body was burning with need and her throat was dry as a desert. Something that no amount of water had fixed. Her stomach growled but even if she put food in it, it would persist. She wanted something - _needed_ something - but didn’t know what.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed between her collapse onto the bed and the rap on the door, but whether it was an hour or a second it left her struggling to sit up. 

“Coming,” she called in a weak rasp.

With legs like lead, she hobbled over to the door and cracked it open.

“Miss Heather Poe?”

“Oh… uh. Yes. That’s me,” Heather coughed. Her throat hurt so badly that talking was painful.

A youngish woman stood in the doorway. She was dark haired and very pretty, and dressed in a long black coat complete with dress pants and a turtle neck. She certainly wasn’t someone that Heather had ever seen but there was something… Very alluring about her.

“Miss Poe, I am Lisa Corner. I work with the Student Welfare team at Griffith College,” she explained. “It had been brought to my attention that your health has been deteriorating rather rapidly recently, and it is becoming a concern for many of the students and staff.”

“I-I’m fine,” Heather insisted, though she didn’t open the door any further. “Just not been well these last few days…”

“I can imagine.” A judgeful eye swept her up and down through the crack in the door. “May I come in?”

Reluctantly, Heather opened the door wider, letting Corner into the room. She felt rightfully embarrassed at the state of the place, but Corner made no comment, simply stepped over the threshold and turning to Heather once she stood in the middle of the room.

“Now, Miss Poe. I was informed that until recently, you had been living with a roommate,” she began.

“Yes,” Heather stuttered, trying her best to focus on Corner and _not_ pass out. “We met at the clinic after my accident. I think… I think she saved my life.”

Corner raised a brow.

“I see. So she blooded you, did she?”

Heather stopped dead, staring at Corner, sure she had misheard her. She had been so unwell lately, it was the only explanation. But Corner began to pace, and Heather felt increasingly like she was suddenly locked in a room with a puma.

“She hasn’t fed you since, has she? You’ve clearly been without for a very long time,” she remarked, casting another judgemental eye over Heather. 

“I-I don’t know what you mean-”

“How very typical. I shouldn’t have expected any less,” Corner sighed, lacing her hands together in front of her. “How very selfish. This won’t do.”

“Um, Miss Corner… I-I have to ask you to leave-”

“You haven’t even been _told_ , let alone fed. How very selfish,” Corner continued, and Heather found herself unable to even open her mouth, let alone _speak_. Something in the air had changed. A subtle pressure bearing down on her that made her stay quiet as Corner pulled out a phone. She tapped out something on the keypad and turned to the petrified Heather.

And then she smiled… It was a very lovely smile.

Suddenly Heather found her fear ebbing away even as Corner approached and reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. It was… a very gently touch. Her hand lingered a moment before cupping Heather’s chin, bringing her eyes to Corner’s dark brown ones. And they were so very lovely...

“You’ve been dealt a very unfair hand in this, haven’t you my dear?”

The phone in her hand buzzed, but she barely glanced at it before tucking it back into her pocket. Then she pulled back her sleeve, lifted it to her mouth, and bit down.

Heather felt her stomach lurch, but not like she was about to be sick. Rather the nausea that came over her was a starved one as that coppery smell flooded her nostrils and overcame her senses. She would have been embarrassed that she was salivating if she had the presence of mind to notice.

Corner held out her weeping wrist and smiled at Heather.

“Feed, darling. You must be starving.”

Heather stared and the subtle pressure nudged her forwards.

It brought to mind a memory as she took Corner’s arm in trembling hands and lowered her mouth to the wound.

At first it was like waking up in a nightmare. The flash of lights and crunch of metal as it sunk into her abdomen. The pain was unbearable, like her insides had been sheared into pieces, and her head… She had barely been thinking at all, let alone thinking straight. 

Then… the girl appeared at her bedside, and the nightmare became a dream. The girl - Evie - held out her arm and willed her to live, and Heather… ...kissed her wrist… 

No. 

She strained, bringing the memory to the forefront of her mind, or as close as she could manage. 

She hadn’t kissed Evie’s wrist. _She had drank from it_. Just like she was doing now. Could remember that sweet something passing her lips and lapping over her tongue and trickling down her throat. And then the pain was gone as if it had never been there. It was replaced by an indescribable feeling of euphoria, like the best drug in the world at the time. And more than that… She saw Evie so very clearly even though the rest of the world was a haze of receding pain and ecstasy. So sharp that she seemed more real than anything else, like the rest of the world was a mere backdrop for her existence… Her wild, beautiful existence.

And then Evie smiled. A cruel smile of guile and glinting fangs. As if all had gone according to plan.

[]

When Evie came to it was not in the chair she had originally fallen asleep in, but on a sofa with a blanket laid over her. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, trying to remember where she was. 

She remembered arriving at the airport with Beckett and Cesare only for exhaustion to cloud the rest. Her stomach - or perhaps the Beast - growled and she glanced down, looking for her rucksack. She still had a couple of blood bags left in it, if she recalled correctly. The bag was tucked securely between the sofa and the neighbouring seat, and attached to it was a note from Cesare informing her that the plane had a shower she could use. 

She didn’t even bother to finish her thoughts on feeding or even take in the rest of the cabin, just leapt to her feet and made a beeline for the bathroom.

True enough there was a shower along with a folded towel and a couple of bottles of shampoo and conditioner, a bar of soap, and a clean change of new clothes piled neatly on the floor waiting for her. She stuck her head out the door and yelled, “thanks Cesare!” down the plane before retreating back inside and locking the door. 

A second later the intercom buzzed and he replied, “you’re welcome, Miss Byrne. Signore Beckett requested I make some purchases before I came to meet you both at the station.”

“Thanks Beckett!” she added promptly, already peeling off her tattered, blood-encrusted clothes and turning on the water.

She heard a chuckle from the room next to the bathroom which explained where he had slept the day away. But she didn’t pay it much mind, just ducked past the curtain, turned the tap and, for a moment, just enjoyed the sensation of the water washing over her and taking not just the grease and grime, but also the stress and tension her body held, with it. The initial cold didn’t bother her, but the heat that came as the water warmed up was more than welcome. She thought back on the last few nights, trying to remember the last time she’d been able to get a decent shower in between the schemes and the fights and the general craziness that had been the last couple of months of her unlife.

The space of time between then and now was embarrassingly longer than she would have liked.

Still there was no time like the present, and seeing as she was quite certain that the plane _didn’t_ have an unlimited water supply she knew she needed to make the most of it. So she scrubbed until the water stopped running black and grey, with the occasional dribble of dark red from long-dried-out blood. Whether it was her own or someone else’s she didn’t know, but she was glad to see it wash away down the drain. Better there than in her hair.

Her hair, once matted with filth and grime, now hung in a tangled sheet that she brushed through with her fingers and conditioner, occasionally tugging out stubborn knots that refused to break apart, until she was able to get her hands through her hair with little resistance.

When she was done, she very reluctantly shut off the water and climbed out to begin the process of drying and dressing. Unlike when she was mortal the transition from warm shower to cold air wasn’t horribly unpleasant, but even so the warm was still preferable.

Cesare hadn’t gone for extravagance when picking out some replacement clothes; just a pair of jeans, black tank top, a solid pair of leather boots, and a khaki green bomber jacket. 

And as far as Evie cared it suited her just fine. She’d learned young that comfort always won out over extravagance. Boots and trainers were fair better for running than heels would ever be. And seeing as she was going to be assisting Beckett in the future she got the feeling that mindset would serve her well in the coming nights.

Stepping back out into the main cabin, Evie took her first proper look around the plane.

For one there were no windows and the walls of the cabin looked reinforced. There weren’t any traditional seats, but there was the sofa she’d originally woken up on and a few chairs along with a fridge made the space feel more homey. A desk was bolted to the floor on one side and sitting at it was Beckett.

He had swapped his brown shirt for a white one, with the sleeves rolled up just above his elbows, and a pair of well-worn jeans. He’d also deposited his sunglasses on the desk, seeing as he had no reason to wear them with no mortals around to catch sight of his unnaturally glowing eyes. 

He didn’t seem to notice Evie standing there at first, as he was pouring over a book with a hand curled in his hair, and Evie couldn’t help but stare. 

It was the first time she’d seen him without his gloves, and it quickly became evident why he wore them in the first place. After all, when trying to pass for human it wasn’t recommended to walk around with hands covered in excessive amounts of coarse hair, or fingers that were tipped with thick claws rather than nails. 

Frankly she’d never seen anything like it in another Kindred, not even the Sheriff, and _he_ had turned into a giant bat.

“Weren’t you ever taught that staring is rude?”

Evie flinched when she realised that Beckett had caught her and then flushed. She doubted Beckett appreciated being ogled in any capacity, regardless of intent.

But he didn’t seem angry or upset. In fact he was smirking with that fond look in his eyes. He also seemed to have caught onto why she had been staring in the first place as he removed his clawed hand from the side of his head and held it up for her to see.

“Take it as a warning as to what happens when you frenzy,” he chuckled. “We Gangrel tend to keep a piece of the Beast with us even after coming back to ourselves.”

“Is that… why your eyes are…?” 

She gestured vaguely to the vicinity of her own eyes and Beckett nodded.

“We call them Beast Marks. As I said, they come about following a frenzy. A consequence of us being closer to the Beast than most Kindred. They’re not always permanent, but some stick better than others. It’s something you’ll need to keep in mind when it comes to keeping yourself and the Beast in check, or else you’ll be needing to take similar precautions to maintain the Masquerade.”

She nodded, and when he turned back to his book she remained where she was, uncertain exactly what she was supposed to be doing with herself. Beckett still hadn’t informed her of any plans he had, or where he planned to travel next, if he had any plans at all. It didn’t seem all that likely. He’d cut off his studies of the sarcophagus early in order to flee LA. And now with it having been destroyed in the explosion, surely he didn’t plan to continue that avenue of study?

Her Beast growled again, a little louder this time, demanding sustenance like a dog that knew it was time for food and wanted it now. So she returned to the sofa, plopped herself down and pulled her rucksack into her lap. 

It took a bit of rummaging around to find them, but sure enough, near the bottom and carefully folded up in her hoodie were a pair of sealed blood bags. They seemed to have stayed fresh enough in their hiding place and didn’t show any signs of the blood congealing, so she got to work on the first one.

When she was done with the second, Beckett closed his book and swivelled his chair to face her. His hands were folded in his lap and he cocked a brow.

“So. I seem to recall at Venture Tower that you said you were still struggling with the Protean Discipline,” he said.

A statement rather than a question. 

“Yeah. I mean, I can make the claws happen-” She demonstrated, sending just enough blood to the tips of her fingers to sprout the long, razor-sharp talons, before sheathing them again. “-but I still haven’t been able to do that thing you do. You know, like when we first met?”

He nodded, looking mildly amused.

“Hm. And do you remember what I told you about the Discipline?”

She bit her lip as she cast her mind back to that particular night. In fairness, they'd spoken about a lot of things besides the Protean Discipline, and some of those things had been a bit higher up her list of priorities at the time.

“Something about... my body reflecting the natural world,” she said slowly. “And… the Beast?”

He nodded again.

“Good to know that you at least _try_ to retain information. The Protean Discipline can be somewhat risky if you don’t know what you’re doing. It’s about peeling back the layers of your own humanity and bringing the Beast closer to the surface, allowing it to influence your physical shape. However an inexperienced user runs the risk of the Beast influencing their mind as well, turning them into little more than… well. Beasts.”

He folded one leg over his knee and leaned back in his seat, looking the most relaxed she’d ever seen him.

“No doubt you’ve seen such poor displays of control among the Sabbat.”

She nodded. She’d seen plenty of Sabbat make use of the Protean Discipline and clearly not have an ounce of self control. And those who did made a show of their inhuman appearance, with impossibly long talons and shark-like teeth.

“In your case, however.” She was drawn out of her thoughts and back to Beckett, who was scratching his chin thoughtfully. “I think your problem may be that you exercise _too_ _much_ control.”

She frowned and cocked her head to one side.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a matter of trust between yourself and the Beast. It’s fine to be wary of it, to respect how dangerous it is. It’s probably what’s kept you alive this long without a sire to watch over you. However that means you approach your Beast as if it is a wild animal, ready to lash out at any second. You don’t trust yourself to keep it under control, so you keep it locked away as tightly as you can. 

“If you truly wish to master the Protean Discipline, you must trust that you can keep it under control, even as you bring it to the surface. You must believe that no matter how much of the leash you give the Beast, you are able to pull it back to your side no matter what. And you cannot fear it breaking loose. You must have the faith that you have the power to prevent such a thing in the first place.”

“You make it sound simple,” she muttered.

But Beckett just shrugged.

“I’ve had over three hundred years to establish such a trust with my Beast. You’ve barely had two months and no sire to instruct you. My suggestion is to take things slowly, and take the time to know your Beast as you would any creature. Learn to trust it, while knowing how and when to discipline it. If you ever have questions, I am here.” 

Then he chuckled and added, “you are, after all, my responsibility for the next fifteen years or so.”

“Fifteen _years_?!” she exclaimed, staring at him in disbelief.

“Yes, which means you’ll have to get used to putting up with me,” he replied, rising to his feet with an annoyingly smug grin. “Now come on. Seeing as we were discussing the Protean Discipline we might as well do some work on it.”

[]

Hardestadt wasn’t overly fond of calling so many representatives of the Camarilla together because it suggested there was a wide reaching problem. One Fledgling should not have warranted such a gathering. But there were murmurs and concerns, and rumours abound, and it made many of the Princes uneasy. After all, if a single Fledgling could storm the fortress of a Prince and slay them, how safe were they really?

It was a ridiculous notion, of course. Lacroix might have shown a great deal of cunning and guile in securing the Princedom of LA, but it was well known by now that his own ambition had seen him undone. 

It was the fall of many young Ventrue. Believing that mere Domination alone could secure their every desire, and that with every problem outmaneuvered they were above taking their time. They underestimated their enemies, believed their position perfectly secured… and then were shocked when they ended up being cut off at the knees by a mob of angry malcontents.

And now Lacroix’s fumbling had landed Hardestadt here, dealing with the worried wittering of Princes scared to face the wrath of a _child_ , for heaven’s sake.

Regardless, it was time to calm the masses and reassure them that one child was not about to upset the balance of the Camarilla.

He stepped into the meeting room and immediately commanded the attention of every soul within. Or whatever passed for such a thing in Kindred. Queen Anne of London, Leslie Taylor from Melbourne, Arjan Voorhies from the Netherlands, even Karaikal from Bombay; many Princes from all over the globe had gathered in the room before him.

The most noticeable absence was that of Therese Voerman, the new Prince of LA, though that was to be expected. With the Anarchs latching onto Lacroix’s death, the political situation was becoming increasingly unstable. It was only fitting the new Prince remain to reign in her domain. 

Instead she had sent an agent - her childe - in her stead. A fact that had no doubt been on the lips of every Kindred now watching Hardestadt in silence.

“Thank you, my friends, for attending this meeting on such short notice,” he began, glancing around at them all. “Tonight I hope to allay your fears regarding the considerable elephant in the room.”

Silence. Just as he liked it.

“As I’m sure you are aware, five nights ago there was a serious incident in Los Angeles that caused a fluctuation of the power balance. I can confirm that Prince Sebastian Lacroix was destroyed in an explosion atop his building, the Venture Tower.

“In the nights since, a new Prince has been installed. One who has had direct dealings with the party supposedly responsible for the incident. Prince Voerman has personally assured me that this… Kindred-”

Best not to publicly acknowledge that a Fledgling could be so capable.

“-has always been a rational, and well-intended individual, and is more likely the victim of the political games played by Prince Lacroix and the local Anarch powerbase, as opposed to any actual designs laid out by the Kindred in question.”

More silence, though there were glances amongst the Princes gathered together as if silently trading thoughts.

“As some of you may be aware, this same Kindred was the one who’s life was spared given to the outburst of Nines Rodriguez, a rising star within the so-called ‘Anarch Free-State’. Prince Voerman has promised that once the worst of the turmoil has passed, she and Regent Strauss intend to launch a full investigation into Mr Rodriguez’s involvement in the events that took place five nights ago.”

He paused and Queen Anne shifted in her seat. He inclined his head ever so slightly granting her permission to speak.

“Beg your pardon, Founder, but there has been a great deal of talk regarding Prince Lacroix’s involvement in these events. In fact, I have even heard rumours that he made deals with the Cathayan leader,” she said, not caring to hide the disgust in her voice.

There were murmurs of assent amongst the group. Confirmation that they had also heard the rumours. Hardestadt just blinked slowly.

“And I assure you, Queen Anne, that these apparent alliances are also to be subjected to further investigation once the situation has stabilised and the Kindred and Kine of LA are placated once more.”

More murmurs and some certainly seemed displeased. Hardestadt exerted his will, if only ever so slightly, allowing his presence to roll over the room. The other Kindred fell silent and kept their eyes fixed solely on him.

“I can assure you that we are doing our utmost to support LA’s new Prince in this turbulent time, and to get to the heart of this problem. However, I feel like we can all agree that a single Fledgling cannot demand all of our attention when other, more dangerous enemies, are pushing at our borders and preying on our momentary weakness.

“Prince Voerman has made the decision to repeal the Blood Hunt on the Fledgling known as Evie Byrne, and assures me that she has the utmost confidence that the child was used. Provided she remains true to her status of Autarkis, I doubt she will prove any kind of threat to us.”

He let his words hang in the air before adding, “is there anything anyone would wish to add before we adjourn this meeting?”

Silence.

Hardestadt looked over the room, nodded curtly, and strode back out of the door with his hands folded behind his back. Honestly, what a ridiculous notion. To believe that a mere _child_ could cause such a panic in so many elders to necessitate such a brief and pointless meeting.

The Prince of Leicester seemed to be the only one who had kept his head for the entirety of the duration. He had even seemed amused by the tittering and worrying of the others.

“What is becoming of the Elders lately?” he tutted, not to himself, but to his sire as if the elder was strolling along beside him in perfect.

He received naught but silence. As it should be.


	3. Cairo

“Keep an eye on your footing. You’re too static, it makes you easier to knock over.”

“I know that, it’s just hard to move around a lot in a _plane_.”

“ _Signore Beckett, if I could so kindly remind you that it is not advisable to conduct combat training at 35,000 feet,_ ” Cesare buzzed over the intercom.

“It’s hardly combat training, Cesare,” Beckett retorted. “We’re just going over a few basic-”

He got cut off when the younger Gangrel slipped into his space, delivered a quick jab to his ribs, and then ducked out under his arm towards the rear end of the cabin.

“How’s that for static?” Evie laughed when Beckett laid his eyes on her.

“Feel grateful that Cesare would start an emergency landing if I retaliated to that,” he grumbled, but there was that amused glimmer in his eye that meant he wasn’t actually annoyed. 

Combat wasn’t something Evie thought they’d be covering. She thought herself pretty capable, and had proven exactly that more than enough times over the last few weeks. But as it turned out there was a lot that could be learned from a vampire with three centuries under his belt. At least, there was when Cesare wasn’t nagging them to stop over the intercom. Whether or not Beckett decided to comply depended entirely on his mood and Evie’s progress. If he felt she was close to getting a grip on what he was teaching, he’d press on regardless.

But it appeared that today he was conceding defeat as he seated himself at his desk.

“Seeing as even the slightest kind of actual training is upsetting our pilot, then I might as well give you something to do so that you don’t annoy him further.”

“Me? Annoying Cesare?” Evie pointed out as she dropped onto the sofa, pushing her hair back out of her face with a grin. “I’m a perfect angel and have never done a wrong thing in my life.”

“Of course not. After all, we both know it was the engine goblin that slipped hot sauce into his meal last night.”

He eyed her knowingly, but she just blinked and cocked her head in the perfect picture of innocence. She then folded her legs onto the sofa as he sat himself down in his chair, pulling out his journal. 

Or rather, it was his most recent journal. There was no doubt in her mind that there was no way a single journal could contain the contents of over three hundred years worth of experience, so it had to be the latest of many. 

It was fit to bursting and she didn’t doubt that there were decades worth of stories packed into it. She’d read only bits and pieces so far. Transcriptions of interviews, accounts written by Beckett or his companions, newspaper clippings, and all sorts, and it was far more interesting than any old history book she’d ever encountered during her schooling.

He also had her doing some work on it for him, as far as the events of LA went. Namely writing up her own accounts of events. He also allowed her to make annotations and comments on things he’d added himself, though she was hardly any kind of exception. Whenever she’d had time to so much as skim through the pages she had found plenty of comments left by various companions of Beckett’s, varying from adding context to the motivations of particular people or remarking on Beckett’s own commentary. Sometimes to a rather comedic effect.

Her ear gave a vague phantom-throb, as if to remind her of the time Beckett gave her a quick cuff for teasing him about the time that Jan Pieterzoon leaving him staked naked for the sun in Amsterdam.

“You can do some transcriptions for me tonight,” he said, passing her the journal and then turning to root around in the desk. “You’ve seen enough of them to know how to format them.”

He pulled out a laptop and a number of tape recorders, each of them labelled with a number, and then passed those to her as well. She raised a brow at him, then picked up one of the recorders.

“Are these from LA?”

“They are, so you’ll have some insight into a number of them.” He gave her a wry grin. “Some more than others.”

He was looking far too smug as he said that, so she picked up one of the recorders and clicked in the play button.

‘ _For the purpose of the recording, a Sabbat warehouse on the far side of the trainyard just went up in flames shortly after quite a powerful explosion_ . _The saboteur, a young female kindred from what I can tell, is currently crossing the trainyard. It may even be the same one that Damsel told me about. I think a chat is in order._ ’

Evie gaped at him. His smug grin just seemed to spread a little more as he stared back. He cocked a single eyebrow, as if he was daring her to comment. She nearly did, but the recording continued before she had a chance.

‘ _The warehouse. Your handiwork, I presume?'_

‘ _Wait... You’re like me, aren’t you? You’re the same clan as me! Can you teach me how to do that?_ ’

She could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment at the eagerness in her voice. It was understandable. She’d never met another Gangrel before, aside from the bastard she called a sire, but it was like listening to a little kid and so it was embarrassing. Funny how long ago it felt. Like a whole other life… Or unlife.

‘ _It will come with experience. Mastery of the Protean Discipline does not, as your generation might say, come in pill form._ ’

‘ _The Protean Discipline?_ ’

‘ _Yes. I’m sure you’re aware of the various powers now available to you. The ones that draw directly upon the blood we refer to as Disciplines. As a Gangrel, you’ve undoubtedly used it. Though probably not in nearly so dramatic a fashion._ ’

‘ _Okay... So who are you and why have you been following me?’_

‘ _I_ _see that my reputation, for once, does not proceed me. My name is Beckett. I haven’t been following you per say. We’ve just coincidentally been in the same places at the same time… For different reasons. So sorry if I unnerved you._ ’

‘ _I_ _wasn’t unnerved._ ’

‘ _Of course not. Tell me. Have you by chance seen or felt anything strange since your Embrace?_ ’

‘ _I_ _saw a wolf turn into a man. Does that count?_ ’

Recording-Beckett chuckled.

‘ _That may be strange from a mortal standard, but you’ll come to learn that for Kindred, such occurrences are as normal as night and day._ ’

There was a pause and Evie remembered that this was when she’d reflected on the events of the previous week of her new unlife.

‘ _Well… I saw a ghost at a local hotel, and the Baron of Santa Monica has a split personality..._ ’

‘ _She’s undoubtedly Malkavian. Or should I say_ they _are undoubtedly Malkavian. As for the ghost, again, that’s quite ordinary. I generally pay wraiths no mind. All but a few are willing to give up their secrets._ ’

‘ _I also met some Kindred on the beach who didn’t seem like Kindred. I even rescued one from the local blood bank. She said they were something called thinbloods._ ’

‘ _Ah, yes. I believe I know the group you’re referring to._ ’

‘ _You saw me talking to them._ ’

‘ _True. Thinbloods are a fascination of mine. They are considered a weaker, more human-like kindred. Hence the name ‘thinblood.’ But they are sired same as any of us. I’ve heard a large concentration of them live in this city. They’re one of the reasons I’m in Los Angeles._ ’

‘ _Well aside from that, I’ve not really noticed anything odd. Except for all the vampires. That was a new one on me this week._ ’

Recording-Beckett chuckled again.

‘ _I can imagine it was. Most of my contacts have reported sensing something unusual in the night air. Like a sense of dread, or pressure. But I’m not a native to these parts, so I can’t tell if it’s irregular. And since you’re still fresh, perhaps you’re not attuned to it._ ’

‘ _Yeah well, I’m not exactly from around here either..._ ’

‘ _Yes, the accent gave you away. At any rate, it was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Miss…?_ ’

‘ _Evie._ ’

‘ _Well, pleasure to meet you Evie, but there are rumblings for me to discredit. We shall, I’m certain, meet again. Or never again. Good night, Young One. And be careful. You’re very likely being hunted by the Sabbat._ ’

‘ _Night Beckett… and thanks for the warning._ ’

The recording clicked to a stop and Evie looked around at Beckett with a glare.

“You didn’t tell me that you were recording all that,” she said accusingly.

“I would have if you had thought to ask,” he countered smugly. Then caught the cushion she tossed at his head. “Now there’s no need for that.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. Then something in the recording finally came to her attention, once she got over the fact that he’d likely recorded almost every conversation they’d had.

“Hang on. You know Damsel?”

It wasn’t something she would have guessed. Neither Damsel nor Beckett had mentioned one another, and she wouldn’t have thought that Damsel would think much of someone who was willing to cooperate with the ‘Cammies’ unless it was as a covert means to give the Anarchs more ground in the fight against them. 

Beckett nodded.

“We met a few years ago, the last time I was in Los Angeles. She’s certainly one of my more… colourful contacts.”

Evie snorted at the choice of words.

“Yeah, she’s a bitch. But in a good way. At least you always know where you stand with her.”

“True. Of all the Kindred I’ve ever met, she’s the least likely to stab you in the back.”

“That’s because she’d sooner stab you in the front.”

“How do you think I met her?”

There was a pause before both Kindred burst into laughter. Beckett was definitely the more restrained of the two, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair as Evie practically doubled over and folded her arms over her stomach.

“I can imagine that,” she giggled once she straightened up. “You just walk up and she yells ‘screw you, Cammie fucker!’ before shanking you in the ribs.”

“Are you quite sure you weren’t there when I met her?” he said wryly.

Evie didn’t get a chance to answer before Cesare buzzed over the intercom again.

“ _Signore, we’ll be arriving at Cairo International Airport in two hours_.”

“Very good Cesare. You’ve sent word to the Prince?”

“ _Yes Signore._ ”

“Good. Let me know if anything comes up.”

Evie considered making an inappropriate joke but decided against it and instead opened the laptop and got to work transcripting the contents of the recorders before Beckett could even jokingly tell her off for dragging her heels.

It was a little disconcerting to hear her own voice played back to her, and more than a little uncomfortable to hear the likes of Lacroix again, but she quickly found her rhythm and a companionable silence settled between herself and Beckett as they worked. Once the first few transcriptions were done and printed out, she took to them with a pen. Less for actual intellectual purposes and more to leave comments on the conversations themselves; either to add context to the scenario or just for the sake of commenting.

And how the tiny chibi Lacroix screaming about wanting his sarcophagus while harnessed to the Sheriff’s chest came to be doodled at the bottom of one of the transcriptions was a mystery never to be solved. Or at least that was what Evie told Beckett when he pointed it out at a later date, and that was the story she was sticking to.

By the time they reached Cairo, they’d gotten a fair amount of work done between them and the journal looked thicker than before. Evie wondered how much Beckett could possibly fit in it before he had to start a new one.

“However much is possible,” he replied vaguely when she voiced the question.

[]

Heather fidgeted, unable to keep her eyes flicking from her lap to Lisa and then back to her lap again.

She felt better than she had in weeks, maybe months. She no longer felt half-starved and the dizzy spells had stopped plaguing her, and she was starting to look healthy again; her hair was shiny and she’d started to fill out again so she didn’t look so emaciated anymore. But the revelation behind the cause still had her reeling.

The thought that Evie was a vampire was so… unthinkable. True, she slept all day and disappeared into the city at night, but that wasn’t so abnormal for a teenager, right? It was a complaint that a lot of adults had about teens. And true, Heather never actually saw her eat anything she cooked but- but she wouldn’t have just lied and thrown it in the trash when she wasn’t looking. She wouldn’t do anything like that.

Lisa believed otherwise. 

Even now the older woman - it was so hard to think of her as a vampire - sat opposite her in the limousine with one leg folded over the other and her hands in her lap as she smiled at Heather sympathetically.

“I know this is all a lot to take in,” she had said before they left LA. “But I’ll try to answer your questions, and my sire can answer any that I can’t.”

It seemed hard to believe. Who else but Evie could explain what Evie had done? Maybe she hadn’t known, Heather reasoned. Maybe she really had been trying to save her life and didn’t realise the effect her blood would have. Why enslave her only to starve and lie to her? It made no sense.

No. Lisa had to be wrong. Her memories had to be wrong. This man - this Roy - couldn’t possibly understand Evie. She wouldn’t _do_ something like this, not on purpose.

...Would she?

“We’re nearly there,” Lisa said gently, drawing Heather’s attention back from her lap. “You don’t need to worry. Roy is a most excellent host to his guests, and you will be well looked after during your stay with us.”

That didn’t make Heather feel any better.

“What if Roy doesn’t like me?” she asked meekly.

Lisa leaned forwards and clasped her hands in her own, meeting her gaze with those lovely dark brown eyes. Heather felt herself blush.

“He will. You have nothing to fear, my dear. Roy is just hopeful you might provide some insight into Evie’s activities before she left LA,” she explained calmly. “He wants to find her, just as you do, I'm sure.”

Heather wasn’t so sure about that. If there was even a shred of truth to what Lisa was saying, it meant that Evie wasn’t just the sweet girl Heather had been led to believe she was. It meant that everything they shared, that sisterly-bond they built during those nights-in where they watched bad horror movies and discussed Heather’s latest designs, was a lie. It was all a lie created by a vampire masquerading as a girl in order to manipulate her.

The thought was sickening, and that was why Heather just couldn’t believe it.

The limousine turned a corner and pulled up to a wrought iron gate that was rusted and covered in ivy. For a moment Heather wondered if the driver had taken a wrong turn, but he just leaned out of the window and pushed his hand into the ivy that covered the stone wall next to the gate. A second later the gate swung open with ease and he drove on through.

They began the long drive up to the decrepit looking castle and the nerves in Heather’s stomach began to jumble up. Three of the four towers seemed to have crumbled in on themselves and there was no visible signs of habitation or maintenance. The lawns were wild and overgrown, having not been attended to in decades… Or longer.

Speaking of bad horror movies, she was starting to feel like she was very much in one… And she might not be the Final Girl in this flick.

The limousine came to a stop outside the huge oak doors at the front of the apparently-abandoned estate. The driver got out, the gravel crunching under his loafers as he opened the door.

“Thank you, Dimitri,” Lisa said as she climbed out. 

She then held a hand out to Heather, who took it tentatively. Lisa drew her closer, linking their arms tightly together, and then offered another reassuring smile as the limousine pulled away and disappeared around the side of the estate.

“Don’t worry. Roy is going to love you,” she said, leading Heather up the steps.

Heather just bit her lip as Lisa lifted the door’s heavy iron knocker, and knocked three times.

[]

Getting two dead people through an airport proved… interesting, to say the least. Personally, Evie was more than a little grateful when Cesare pried the coffin open and made a mental note to _never_ stick rude post-it notes on his headset ever again. She’d never really liked enclosed spaces but being _nailed_ into a _box_ was just downright claustrophobic.

“How do you _sleep_ like that?” she exclaimed incredulously, as she stared at Beckett who - definitely for the sake of being dramatic and making fun of her - sat upright with his hands folded over his chest like something straight out of a vampire movie.

“It’s very easy when you’re not conscious for most of it,” he replied as he climbed out and straightened his jacket. “Now come on. We have to present ourselves to the Prince. Preferably _before_ the sun comes up.”

She swallowed just thinking about it. After all, she was still technically on the run from the Camarilla so long as the LA Blood Hunt continued, and they’d had no word on that front in particular. The idea of walking up to a Prince - even one only vaguely aligned with the Camarilla at best - seemed about as sensible as walking straight into a burning building.

Yet Beckett had insisted.

“Better you announce yourself than have Mukhtar learn that you’ve been hiding from him in his own domain,” he explained. “Hiding implies you’ve done something wrong.”

She would have liked to point out that killing a Prince - however indirectly - _was_ wrong as far as the Camarilla cared, but forced herself to remember that Beckett had been at this for far longer than she had. If he believed that presenting herself to this Prince was the right decision, she had to trust that he was right.

It didn’t mean that her stomach would stop churning though.

Cesare retrieved the rented car and brought it around to Evie and Beckett as they waited on the pavement. They then set out.

“Mukhtar makes his residence in the Manial Palace,” Beckett explained as Cesare drove them into the city. “We’re expected, so when we arrive you just need to stay quiet and only speak when spoken to. If he says anything about LA, you let me handle it. Understood?”

Evie nodded wordlessly. She was perfectly happy to let Beckett do the talking if it meant reducing the chances of having to re-enact her first night as one of the Kindred. And keeping her mouth shut also reduced the chances of her vomiting blood onto any rugs or carpets.

The rest of the drive went by in silence, and it was only when they came to a stop outside of the palace itself did Beckett lean out of the window to inform a guard at the gate that they were expected. The man - no, vampire - at the gate took a moment to verify and then let them through. 

The palace gardens were beyond all description. Rows upon rows of lush greenery stretched far and wide across the estate, with the palace’s buildings standing over them all. Cesare waited with the car, waving Evie and Beckett goodbye as they made their way into the gardens. As they made their way through the rows of greenery, Beckett pointed out the predominant Turco-Islamic architecture and the vast variety of plants that had been brought in from all over the world, with many having been selected by the palace architect and original head gardener. 

It was almost like listening to a teacher during a school trip, and while it didn’t completely set Evie’s nerves at ease, it did help a little. She suspected that was the point.

They didn’t head into any of the buildings as she had expected, however. Instead Beckett led the way deeper into the gardens. Here the rows between plant beds became narrower, and the plants formed a canopy that made the space feel more enclosed than before.

They were still very well tended so that no stray roots or tendrils lay in the path ready to trip unsuspecting guests, but it gave a vaguely claustrophobic feeling. Almost like being back in the coffin but not nearly as bad. At least she could move around here. Even with her sharpened vision, the darkness made it hard to pick out specific shapes and every now and then she wasn’t certain if she’d seen something moving in the undergrowth or if she was just imagining things.

If she wasn’t feeling so nervous, she would love the chance to explore properly. Instead she was filled with dread, like the darkness around her was compounding itself around her and pressing in on all sides.

Fortunately it didn’t last forever. As they approached what had to be the heart of the garden, glowing lights emerged from the darkness and one by one, they peeled away the darkness.

In the middle of the clearing there was a small building with a veranda extending from it. In the center of the veranda there was a throne, and sitting in it was a man who could only be Mukhtar Bey himself.

He had brown skin and a strong, if not muscular, frame. He had long black hair slicked out of his face and a long beard that was expertly trimmed to a fine point midway down his chest. He wore a black suit with a white shirt that he wore open just below the collar bone, and he sat with one leg folded over the other and his chin rested on his fingers with his index resting against his nose. 

If he was curious, he didn’t show it. If anything he looked mildly bored.

“Beckett,” he drawled when the pair came to a halt just before his throne. “It’s been some time since you graced Cairo with your presence.”

Beckett inclined his head, which was a very odd sight to Evie.

“I’ve been busy lately,” he replied before settling his hand on her shoulder. “My childe and I are here to do some research and look into some rumours I’ve heard floating about lately. With your blessing, of course.”

“Your childe, hm?” Mukhtar’s gaze fell upon Evie. “I didn’t realise you _had_ a childe, Beckett.”

“Adopted childe.”

“Ah.”

There was a pause before he jerked his head at Evie.

“Tell me your name, Fledgling,” he ordered.

“Evie, sir. Evie Byrne.”

“Yes, I know who you are.” He looked back to Beckett. “I wasn’t aware that you adopted Prince Killers, Beckett.”

Beckett didn’t visibly flinch as far as Evie could tell, and he sounded as calm as ever when he spoke.

“She’s only a Prince Killer if she actually killed the Prince herself, Mukhtar."

Another pause. And then Mukhtar inclined his head.

“Indeed. Which is why I was asked by the Inner Circle to inform you that the new Prince of Los Angeles, Therese Voerman, has called off the Blood Hunt on your childe’s head,” he replied smoothly. “Provided your childe stays out of trouble, she has nothing to fear and is as welcome as you to operate within my domain.”

Evie blinked once, then twice, as if to make sure she had heard that correctly. Not only was Bey choosing to _not_ lop her head off, but Therese - the _Prince_ \- had called off the Blood Hunt?

So… the Camarilla _wasn’t_ going to try and kill her? After everything that happened, everything she had done to bring down Lacroix… And they were just letting her go? It took the relief a moment or two to sink in.

“Understand, however, that this leniency is not due to generosity,” Mukhtar said, interrupting her train of thought. He was looking at her again. “It’s come to light that Anarch influences were responsible for engineering the situation regarding this… Ankaran Sarcophagus. Some parties, including Smiling Jack, have already claimed responsibility for their part in the scheme.”

Evie felt the bottom of her stomach drop out, and the rest of the world seemed to go with it.

Jack? _Jack_ had been involved in that mess? But- But he had been the one to help her escape. Who taught her, however quickly, about what she was and how to survive. If it hadn’t been for him, she wouldn’t have survived Santa Monica. If he was involved…

She really couldn’t trust anyone else, could she?

“Evie?”

She jumped and realised she had not only spaced out, but that the colour from her face had drained away. Beckett was looking at her with mild concern and Mukhtar had arched a brow.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“Don’t be, Young One,” Mukhtar said wearily. “Your lack of control is your sire’s responsibility. The day it becomes mine will be the day you lose your head.”

She just nodded, wanting to be literally anywhere else right now. Standing here, doing nothing… Her mind was already wandering back to Jack and it took a conscious effort not to let it.

“Good evening to your both. I hope your time in Cairo proves… enlightening.”

Beckett inclined his head once more and nodded to Evie before turning and leading her back into the garden. He didn’t say a word until the were out of the Prince’s earshot.

“Are you alright?”

“...I fucking hate this,” she muttered after a brief silence.

“Did you actually _hear_ what Mukhtar said after he mentioned Jack?”

“No. I was too busy realising that Jack was a using fuckwad like everyone else in that fucking city,” she spat, finally looking up at Beckett. “He was the first person to actually tell me what the hell I am, the first one to actually _teach_ me how to survive, and it turns out he was using me like everyone else!”

It was only when Beckett hushed her did she realise that she’d been shouting as the red hot anger built in her chest. The Beast was growling and pacing agitatedly and it took more effort than she’d like to admit to push it down.

Frenzying now was not going to change anything.

“I don’t think he was using you specifically,” Beckett said with that surprising gentleness. “You’d know that if you’d listened to what Mukhtar said.”

“I doubt it.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Jack claimed that he swapped Messarach’s body with the explosives that detonated when Sebastian opened the Ankaran Sarcophagus,” he explained. “He also staged the events of the Elizabeth Dane to make it appear as though a sleeping ancient massacred the crew-”

“Right because Jack massacring a whole crew of innocent people makes me feel _so_ much better about this,” she growled.

“-He also confessed to helping you escape LA and that he advised you to seek the protection of one of the factions,” he continued. “In fact, he may have even expressed some regret that you were Sebastian’s chosen pawn.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“Why?”

 _Because he lied to me,_ she thought. _He saved me, but he still lied to me. He’s the reason Lacroix sent me to the Dane, hell he probably stole the key and gave it to Ming. He didn’t actually warn me about the sarcophagus even though he knew better than anyone about what was inside. He’s the reason that everything that happened to me with that damned sarcophagus happened, and he never said a word. He might not have used me like Lacroix or Ming, and he might have regretted that I got involved, but he sure as hell didn’t try to protect me._

But she didn’t say any of that because she was sure it would come out sounding childish and selfish. Instead she just turned away and said nothing.

Beckett heaved a sigh and shook his head.

“Well we’re burning moonlight, and there are things to do,” he said, turning to continue through the garden. “Come on. Cesare will be waiting for us.”

It took Evie a moment to follow, trailing a little ways behind him as she wondered when this sarcophagus nonsense was going to be well and truly behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter time :D  
> Writer's block has decided to be a dick, so apologies that this chapter's a bit shorter than the last two, but I'm going to try and keep a relatively decent update schedule because honestly Evie and Beckett are in possession of my whole brain these days XD  
> Lemme know if you liked it, and thank you for reading ^^


	4. First Blood

If there was one thing Evie was grateful for, it was that Egypt was cold at night. Even in life she’d not been a fan of the blazing heat of summer. Now she could sleep through it without a problem and count on it to be reasonably cooler when she woke up. One of the few graces of being among the living dead, she supposed.

The rover came to a stop and she looked around at Beckett who was double checking the gps. He nodded.

“We’re on foot from here,” he said, climbing out. 

Evie followed suit, grabbing her bag up off of the floor and closing the car door behind her.

Beckett, meanwhile, was shouldering a backpack that looked like it could easily crush a man’s spine if it wasn’t carried correctly, yet he made it look easy. Yet another perk to being clinically dead.

He took the lead, turning off of the road and heading straight into the desert with Evie trailing along at his side, eyes fixed on the vast expanse unfurling before them. They crossed the desert sands mostly in silence with the occasional pause as Beckett glanced around, as if to get his bearings. 

Evie wondered exactly what it was that he could see that told him where they were and where they needed to be going. Maybe he just had the kind of experience that could only be gained over centuries of exploration, but all she could see was identical stretches of desert in all directions on they were far enough from the rover that it had fallen out of sight behind one of the innumerable dunes.

“So what’s so special about these ruins, exactly?” she asked after she got bored of counting the grains of sand that had hitched a ride on her boots.

“Nothing at all,” Beckett said bluntly. “The ruins themselves are quite ordinary. Standard fare. It’s what’s inside that intrigues me.”

“And what _is_ inside?”

He just smirked.

“You’ll just have to guess, won’t you?”

Evie sighed. He enjoyed dangling the mystery of their purpose over her head, so she fell silent again, thinking about it as they trudged on. 

Since presenting themselves to the Prince and receiving his blessing to operate within the city they’d met with several different Kindred. Beckett asked them all sorts of questions about some group called ‘the Setites’, as well as the Book of Nod and if anyone knew about any Kindred artefacts that might currently be in circulation. The questions led them to a Tremere who had dealings with the Setites and then pointed them to the ruins they were headed to.

“You think that the Setites are using the ruins to house artefacts or something?” she blurted out after a few minutes of deliberation.

Beckett chuckled.

“It’s certainly possible. I can’t think of why else they would bother with the place,” he said. “As far as I can tell, it has nothing to do with the Kindred. Which makes it the perfect place to hide the sort of thing someone might want to keep from me.”

“Because you’re only interested in Kindred history?”

“Precisely.” He smirked. “They believed I would never even _dream_ to search in a place like this.”

“But _why_ don’t they want you to find it?” she asked, frowning.

“Because there are many who want to keep the truth from me,” he said bluntly, an edge of irritation colouring his voice that was not directed at her. “Whether it’s to protect their precious political ideals or to maintain their supposed relevance in the modern nights. I’ve not let them stop me before, and I don’t intend to start now.”

“...So it’s political bullshit?”

“Yes Evie,” he laughed. “It’s political bullshit.”

They pressed on across the barren landscape for hours, the moon and the stars in the sky overhead being their only other companions. 

“So, you never actually explained to me who the Setites are,” Evie pointed out as they crested another dune. “Are they another Sect, like the Camarilla?”

Beckett paused before answering, scoping out the desert that lay before them and then began to pick his way down the slope with a practised ease.

“No, not exactly. They’re a clan who believe that they are descended from the Egyptian God, Set, hence the name ‘Setites’,” he explained. 

He held out a hand and Evie took it, letting him keep her steady as she found her own footing down.

“But Set wasn’t actually a god, you see. He was Kindred, and he is largely considered the clan’s progenitor. It’s Antediluvian. The Setites believe that when Gehenna arrives, Set will awaken to rule or consume the world, and they believe they pave the way to his return,” he continued. “They are masters of corruption, and use various tools to break people away from outside influences and into the service of Set.”

“So they’re a clan _and_ a cult?”

“Effectively. Not all Setites join the clan via the Embrace, after all. Outcasts from other clans have been welcomed among their ranks, after all, and are taught their ways as any Setite childe would be.” He snorted. “If there’s one thing the Setites have gotten right, it’s that divisions between bloodlines have very little meaning at all.”

There was a pause before Evie asked, “how likely is it that we’ll run into Setites in the ruins?”

Beckett chuckled.

“That,” he said, “is an excellent question. We’ll just have to find out, and hope that, if there _are_ any all the way out here, they may only have left a guard or two in the event I found their trail.”

It was another hour before they saw the first signs of the ruins. And by saw, Evie nearly fell _into_ them.

[]

The first bits of debris disrupted the otherwise deserted wasteland, chunks of ancient stone that indicated that something used to stand there a long time ago. Ruined pillars began to crop up, with two rows running in parallel to one another, and up ahead was a low stone wall surrounding some kind of opening.

“That’s likely to be our entrance,” Beckett murmured. “No signs of any Setites yet, but keep your guard up. Just in case.”

Evie nodded, talons unsheathing themselves just in case. They began to cross towards the entrance, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of an ambush and-

**_JUMP!_ **

She didn’t stop to think twice when her instincts screamed at her, just flung herself forwards a split second before the ground gave out beneath her feet. Sand and stone fell away down into the gaping pit that opened up beneath her, and she would have too if her clawed hand hadn’t sunk her talons into the earth. But it wasn’t stable and it crumbled between her claws.

She clawed at the unstable slope with both hands, trying and failing to get a footing. She didn’t dare look down into the pit below, just focused on trying to find a way to get herself back up even as she slid down another good couple of feet. Maybe it was just her imagination, a phantom feeling from her time as a human, but she could have sworn she felt her heart hammering in her chest so hard that it threatened to bruise her ribs.

“Evie, grab on!”

She looked up and saw Beckett leaning over the edge of the pit, hand outstretched. He was still about two or three feet out of reach. She’d have to make a run and jump up the slope to reach him.

Drawing a deep breath, she hunched down, focused her blood into her legs, and pushed up as if bursting into a sprint. Three steps up and the earth began to give way under her feet, and she threw out her hand, reaching for Beckett. 

To her vast relief he caught her wrist and pulled. Her feet found the slope again and she was able to half-climb up the side until she was safely back on solid ground. For a moment they sat at the edge of the pit, minds racing to catch up to their bodies before Evie laughed.

“Well, we’re off to a great start,” she said brightly. “Not even here two minutes and this place already wants me dead.”

Beckett shook his head, smirking.

“Leave it to a bit of unstable ground to do the job better than Sebastian or the Sabbat,” he remarked, getting to his feet. “Still, seeing as you’re not hurt, how about we get inside before the ground tries to swallow you up again?”

“Sounds like a plan,” she said, doing the same and dusting herself off.

The entrance itself was contained by three low stone walls with one side open. The opening, however, was filled with sand. And a lot of it. Only the very top step at its mouth indicated that there had once been stairs leading down into the earth, with the rest having been buried under the sand and dust.

“This is recent. Someone intentionally buried the entrance,” Beckett murmured, glancing at his watch. “Meaning that pit may have been a trap for anyone who came to poke around.”

“Did the Setites house the artefacts here, or were they just trying to get rid of them?” Evie wondered.

Beckett scowled.

“If it’s the latter, I’ll beat them into torpor,” he growled. “We only have a couple more hours before sunrise. If we spend time digging, we won’t be able to explore this place properly until tomorrow night. By which time the Setites might be aware that we’re on the trail.”

Evie raised a brow.

“So plan b is to jump down that thing?” she asked, jerking her head towards the gaping pit that was now ahead of them.

He smirked at her, cocking a brow.

“Scared?” he teased.

She responded with a deadpan look.

“I nearly _fell_ down it.”

“You’ll get used to it, sooner or later.” 

“And say we do jump down there and find what we’re looking for? How do we get back out?”

“Dig back through the entrance. Obviously.”

He walked back around the entrance towards the edge of the pit, and peered down into the darkness. Evie, however, hung back. Maybe it was because of her fall but she didn’t like the idea of trying to climb down that way. Beckett, however, seemed quite intent on it considering he had removed his gloves and sprouted his own talons.

“Come on,” he called as he lowered himself over the side. “Best not to burn moonlight.”

She groaned inwardly but followed regardless. Beckett had already worked his way a few feet down the pit wall by the time she reached the pit’s mouth, his talons anchoring him to the loose earth. Reluctantly, Evie lowered herself over the side, digging her claws into the earth and slowly followed him downward.

Half the time she expected the slope to give way again and to fall down into the dark, but perhaps because she was actually expecting it to happen this time the pit decided it wasn’t going to fall away like last time just to mess with her. Even so she stayed tense and ready to jump further back up if need be.

A quick glance over at Beckett made it look as though he wasn’t nearly as concerned as she was. Not that he had any reason to be. He could turn into a _bat_ for god’s sake. He didn’t really need to climb like this, and if he fell he didn’t need to worry about splatting on the ground somewhere below.

The pit went further than she imagined which made Evie relieved that she hadn’t actually fallen down the first time.

After several long minutes into the descent, the sky became a pinprick above them, almost indistinguishable from the mouth of the pit. And then a thought occurred.

“How do we even know if this thing opens into the ruins?” she called over to Beckett.

“If it doesn’t, then we’ll have to dig and if we don’t get through by day break, I’ll meld with the earth and you can bury yourself in the dirt.”

“...And you’ve survived for over three hundred years _how_?!”

Beckett just laughed and continued downwards.

Fortunately she needn’t have worried. The pit did in fact open, and directly below them was the roof of a small-ish building. It was quite a fall, one that could easily kill or cause permanent damage to a human, but to a couple of vampires - especially ones equipped with Fortitude - the worst they could expect was a sprain if they didn’t stick the landing. 

Beckett dropped first and Evie followed. They hit the roof with a stony crunch and Evie, still tense thanks to the anticipation caused by her earlier fall, darted to the side before it gave in. Beckett threw an arm out and caught the edge of the now-gaping hole in the roof, only for the masonry to crumble between his fingers and he fell through.

Evie edged her way over and peered down the new hole in the roof. Beckett lay sprawled on the ground below in a mess of broken stone and splintered wood, but otherwise he seemed unhurt.

She opened her mouth but Beckett just raised a hand and pointed at her (or vaguely in her direction).

“Not. One. Word,” he grunted. 

So she just giggled and turned to view her surroundings. As Beckett had warned her before, it wasn’t anything particularly impressive. A small, ruined settlement but not much else. There were buildings and dirt roads that were still firmly compacted from use, and they all seemed to be built around and out from something though. From here it was hard to tell what that something was, but it didn’t look like this place housed anything particularly remarkable. It was just… ordinary.

No wonder the Setites chose this place to hide the artefacts. Not even the most studious of Kine would want to bother investing time in this place when there were other more intriguing sites to be explored. There wasn’t a whisper of a breeze, and the whole place was so dark that she had to focus her blood to her eyes, tapping into the Protean discipline, to be able to see anything clearly.

But as she moved closer to the edge of the building, ready to take a look around in search of these artefacts Beckett wanted she became strangely aware of how quiet it was. And not just in the lack of a breeze, but also the fact that she couldn’t hear her feet moving against the stone, or Beckett picking himself up off of the ground below. It was like she’d suddenly gone deaf, or all the noise in the world had just… ceased. 

Confused, she glanced around.

“Beckett?”

Even her own voice sounded strangely muffled to her, like someone had clamped a pillow over her ears. 

Then she heard it… The tiny gasp of breath escaping lungs. The sound itself was so small, yet so very powerful that she hardly noticed the beads of blood sweat dripping from her brow as her chest tightened just thinking about it.

Sam… Oh god, _Sam_.

Suddenly she was there, trailing behind Sam along that street in Hollywood towards the alley with the payphones, and feeling utterly helpless as her pleas fell on deaf ears. That rising desperation and fear, not knowing what would happen if she didn’t _do something_.

She hadn’t thought, just reacted. One moment Sam was dialling Jenny’s number, the next she was on the ground, her blood leaking out from the knife wound in her back. 

She’d been protecting the Masquerade, Evie had told herself. She wouldn’t have done it if she had an alternative. 

But there had been alternatives, hadn’t there? She could have knocked Sam out and let her come to, believing she had dreamt up the encounter in the first place. She could have just done a better job at convincing Sam that she was mistaken in the first place. Hell, she could have - _should have_ \- been more vigilant and spotted Sam first and hid out in Isaac’s office until she was gone!

She should have done so many things differently. None of them had to end in Sam’s death. The first person she had killed when it wasn’t in self-defense and it was the first person who had genuinely _tried_ to take care of her.

She was a monster. A monster who had taken Sam’s life so easily, and ultimately without any hesitation. 

Beckett would be better off abandoning her, she realised. He should just leave her in this ruin to wait for the sun to come up and shine down the pit and burn her away. After her mother, then her father, Sam, and Lacroix, Evie was proving that a trend existed when it came to her guardians; she always ended up killing them, and each death was more intentional than the last. 

It was only a matter of time before she turned on Beckett as well. Everyone would be better off if she just left and died before she had the chance to hurt him too-!

“Evie!”

Suddenly the world seemed to turn back on and her senses were immediately under assault. 

Someone grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her backwards and down before she could react. And just in time, as the assassin’s blade sliced at the spot that had been occupied by her neck only half a second later. It was only when her back was pressed against his chest that she realised that it was Beckett who had grabbed her. He had a gun out and fired it through the doorway and then up at the hole in the ceiling as he dragged her down behind a table that had been knocked onto its side in a makeshift barricade where he let her go.

She then became aware of the fact that she was crying and that she was covered from head-to-toe in a fine film of blood that clung to her skin like drying sweat. Beckett shifted so he was kneeling in front of her with a clawed hand gripping her shoulder.

He was looking worse for wear. His shoulder was still in the process of healing shut from whatever wound he’d received, and there were droplets of blood rolling down the side of his face like sweat. He was also paler than usual and his expression was very intense. Whatever was happening, he’d clearly been fighting to get her to safety while avoiding getting himself killed in the process. 

He peered over the top of their one defense between them and whoever their attackers were, and then turned back to her with a very serious look on his face. He then pressed the gun into her hands.

“You,” he whispered firmly, “stay right. Here. Only use it if you have to.”

She couldn’t help but nod stiffly as he disappeared back into the fray. She felt so awful that she could barely even register her usual disgust with the weapon in her hands, let alone try to help Beckett fight their attackers.

So instead of trying to deliberately disobey him, she tried to figure out exactly _what_ had just happened to her. One minute she’d been standing on the roof, the next… The next was that strange silence, right before she found herself in the grips of the memory of that night in Hollywood. Sam running up to her, hugging her tightly, then the payphones and the knife…

God, it was like she was there in the moment, reliving it as it happened. And then there had been those verges of other memories. Stabbing Lacroix in the throat, the precise second she’d squeezed the pistol’s trigger... She couldn’t remember if she had meant to or if it had just been an accident, only that it had happened.

It was like some of the darkest moments of her life had all been converging together to come to that horrible conclusion: that things would be better if she was dead.

**_SHOOT!_ **

She rolled onto her right side and fired, just as her instincts told her to. The would-be-assassin was stunned long enough for Evie to unsheath her claws, ready to fight.

They were definitely Kindred. Whatever happened up on that roof had to have been the result of some kind of Discipline (one she was _definitely_ going to ask Beckett about later) but it was one she’d never encountered the likes of before. Much like the Kindred in front of her.

They were dark skinned, but not in the way that description was typically applied. Rather, it looked like their skin had been dusted over with a fine coating of charcoal. And while the gun-shot wound had definitely momentarily stunned them, it hadn’t deterred them.

They leapt forwards, a long sharp blade flashing in their hand and aimed directly for her throat. Evie ducked and fired again. The Kindred was ready this time and stepped out of the bullet’s path before they pivoted with one foot and kicked the gun out of her hands with the other. Then they brought the blade down again. It cut a shallow line into her neck as opposed to slitting her throat as she pushed herself up onto her knees and the Beast howled at the potent sting. She rolled, dodging the blade again as it came back up, this time aiming for the nape of her neck, and then slashed upwards with her claws.

She caught the Kindred’s elbow, tearing through the thick leather of their jacket and digging her claws into the joint, forcibly tearing the cartilage as her claws pushed the bones apart. The Kindred didn’t scream. Rather, they pivoted, bringing their free elbow around and slamming it into the side of Evie’s head. She bit down a yelp. If they wouldn’t show signs of pain then neither would she. Instead she clung on even as she stumbled backwards, digging her claws in deeper to keep the bones of the Kindred’s elbow from pulling back together, causing the arm to bend in a nigh on unnatural way. The blade fell from their hand and hit the ground with a metallic clatter.

Evie, still held half-upright, groped blindly behind her, grabbed the blade and rammed it upwards into the Kindred’s back.

This time they let out an unearthly shriek of agony as the blade severed their spinal cord as it lanced through their chest. In an instant they crumbled into ash, and Evie hit the ground as the anchor keeping her somewhat upright disintegrated between her claws. She didn’t let go of the blade’s handle, however.

She blinked as if to clear her head, feeling winded even though it shouldn’t have been possible. For a few moments she just lay there, staring up at the hole in the ceiling into the darkness beyond that.

The brief moment of silence was shattered by a scream that was deeper and more masculine than her attacker's, and she scrambled to her feet. Once she was properly oriented - her head was still throbbing where she’d been hit - she sprinted towards the doorway.

To her relief, it was Beckett standing over a pile of ashes with bloody claws, blood beading on his brow, and with a few injuries to his torso, but otherwise still in one piece. He looked around at her and there was a momentary flicker of relief on his face before he marched back into her direction, hurrying her back through the doorway.

“Are you alright?” he demanded. “Are you hurt-?”

His eyes fell on the pile of ash that had been the Kindred she had fought, and he then looked back to her.

“I feel like I should be asking you that,” she panted, gesturing to his bloodied torso.

“All things considered, I could be much worse off right now,” he said gruffly as he grabbed the wreckage of the door from the ground. “As could you.”

“I figured. Who were they? The Setites?”

He shook his head as he - almost comically - tucked the door under his arm.

“I’ll explain tomorrow night. We only have a couple of hours before dawn and I want to be sure that we won't be attacked again. That and we have to be sure that we’ll have a place to sleep when the sun comes up,” he said sharply. When she opened her mouth to protest, he cut her off with, “I promise. I’ll explain. But right now we need to be certain that we’ll be safe for the time being.”

He led her further into what she now realised was the ruins of a home. Where she and the Kindred had fought must have been a shared living space - the ancient combination of a kitchen, living room, and dining room. Not that she had the mind to really notice.

Her mind was racing with a thousand and one questions, and the Beast inside was dissatisfied with the lack of answers and lack of blood. It prowled the bars of its cage, and while it was tempting to quash it down altogether, she let it prowl in its irritation. She would have her answers, she assured it, when they were safe. And Beckett had brought blood for them, so they wouldn’t go hungry either.

The Beast didn’t like that much and it snarled harshly. But still she maintained the calming thoughts as Beckett had suggested during their lessons. Keeping it under control without lashing out at it.

As Beckett motioned for her to move into what appeared to be the house’s cellar, the Beast finally settled. It wasn’t happy, but it did as she wished. If she wasn’t exhausted and feeling like her legs might give out at any moment she would have rejoiced and immediately informed Beckett of the development. As it was, she was feeling that familiar lethargy creeping up on her even as Beckett secured the door over the entrance to the cellar, ensuring that no sunlight would creep over them during the daylight hours, no matter how slim that chance was.

She let herself slide down the opposite wall into a sitting position, laying the blood-soaked blade on the ground beside her. Beckett dropped his backpack on the ground, which he must have recovered when she wasn’t paying attention, and pulled out a satchel. And from that pulled out a thermos. When he opened it, Evie felt the Beast rouse again at the coppery aroma that came from it, pawing at its cage with a disgruntled growl.

Beckett took the first swig, then held it out to her.

“Try not to drink it all,” he said. “We’ll need more before we get back to the hotel.”

She did as she was told and stayed as mindful as possible as she slugged back a couple of mouthfuls of blood, then passed it back to Beckett. He didn’t look particularly pleased, though she got the sense that it wasn’t directed at her. She opened her mouth to ask, but he shook his head.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I'm going to make sure we’re alone and that we don't have any more visitors to worry about. You get some sleep.”

She watched him disappeared back up the stairs, shouldering the door out of the way and then dropping it back over the cellar entrance, leaving her alone in the darkness. 

She huddled up into a ball, exhausted but unable to sleep until he returned nearly an hour later, looking as weary as she felt. He blinked when he realised she was still awake, but offered her a gentle smile as he dropped into the spot beside her, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and rested his head on top of hers. 

And just like that, her eyes slid closed and she was gone.

[]

Beckett was absent when Evie came to the next evening. He was always awake before she was and the lethargy that came with the coming of the dawn always seemed to seize her faster than it did him. Another thing added to the list of questions she’d need to ask him sooner or later.

But first she took a minute to gather herself.

Frankly, she felt disgusting. The blood-sweat from the previous night had dried against her skin and cracked as she sat up properly. It stuck to her clothes and her head was vaguely throbbing where the Kindred had hit her the night before. The blade still lay on the ground at her side, the Kindred’s blood having dried to it, leaving it sticky and unusable. If she intended to hang onto the weapon, she’d need to clean it.

A loud creaking shattered the silence of the cellar and Evie bolted to her feet, grabbing the blade. A useless weapon was better than none.

Fortunately she didn’t need to try and use it, as it was none other than Beckett who appeared at the entrance to the cellar, having moved the splintering door out of the way. He raised a brow at the sight of her, but then smiled and motioned for her to join him. She slipped the blade into the belt loop of her jeans and then did exactly that.

The ruins were silent, but there was the faint howl of wind coming from the pit above and the sound of their footsteps across the dirt which was more comforting to Evie than it would have been before. Beckett led her out of the house they’d taken refuge in and through the rest of the small settlement that was, as he’d said, ordinary in every way. In fact she was half-surprised that the place was even abandoned. The stone buildings and their wooden thatch work looked so well preserved that she half expected to see lights in the windows and figures moving in doorways, and to hear chatter and laughter floating out into the street.

But all was still and silent, preserved and buried in time, and it took a while for either vampire to speak.

“Beckett… Who were those Kindred that attacked us?” Evie finally asked.

He heaved a sigh, as if he had been dreading that particular question.

“Those… were Assamites. Some of the most effective and feared assassins our world has to offer.”

“Assassins…?” She felt her heart drop.

The Prince had said that Therese had repealed the Blood Hunt and that the Camarilla had decided to leave her be, provided she stayed out of trouble. Was there someone out there who disagreed with the decision and had decided to take matters into their own hands? 

Or worse, she thought as her heart dropped a little further, could the Sabbat have hired them as revenge for the shared demise of Victoria and Hazel? Would the Sabbat employ assassins? She really didn’t know. One thing was certain: someone out there wanted her dead, and since she’d not drawn attention to herself since becoming involved with Beckett, there was only one reason why someone would want her dead.

“They were looking for me, weren’t they?” she said quietly. It wasn’t exactly a question she posed to Beckett, but more herself. “Because of what I did in LA.”

There was a pause, and it was clear that the thought had crossed Beckett’s mind too.

“I don’t know. It’s a possibility.”

If he thought that not being blunt about it would reassure her then he was dead wrong. If anything she felt worse. 

It didn’t help that whatever she had experienced the night before - with the memories of Sam’s death and the conclusion she had come to as it converged with other memories - was still gnawing away at her.

“The best way to know when an Assamite is coming for you is a complete and utter silence,” Beckett said abruptly, snapping Evie out of her reverie. Maybe for that exact purpose. “You noticed it, didn’t you? When you were on the roof.”

She nodded stiffly.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was like someone put the world on mute,” she said slowly. “And even when I called out to you, it sounded all muffled in my head. And then...”

She trailed off. 

Beckett had always been surprisingly patient with her, especially when it came to the more delicate matters. Whatever she’d thought of him back in LA, he was proving he knew how to navigate the difficult minefield that was an emotional teenager and he was never particularly harsh when it came to such things. But that conclusion she’d come to, and the pattern that led her to it felt too personal. Private. She didn’t really want to tell him. Not yet anyway.

“Evie?”

They’d stopped in a narrow alley with Beckett looking down at her, vaguely puzzled. She realised she had gotten lost in her own thoughts and hadn't been listening to anything he might have said. 

“Sorry?”

He raised a brow.

“You were going to say something about what happened. I take it that you were thinking about what happened when you were under the Quietus Discipline’s influence?”

“The what?”

Right. She’d guessed that a Discipline had been in play when she suddenly went deaf and her mind wandered into those dark memories. She’d meant to ask.

“The Quietus Discipline. The Assamites are infamous for their use of it,” he explained. “In its most basic form, it causes the utter silence you experienced. But in its more powerful forms, it can be far more insidious.

“I would guess that our would-be-assassins were using the Blood Sweat power on you. It causes a target to not only sweat their own blood, but also to dwell on terrible things they have done. The target becomes weak, helpless, and unaware of anything happening around them. The perfect target for an assassin.”

He gave her a sympathetic smile.

“The fact you broke free is quite an achievement.”

“Only because of you,” she murmured. “You snapped me out of it. If you hadn’t…”

“If I could have snapped you out of it then I would have been able to do it a lot sooner,” he pressed, squeezing her shoulder before continuing onward and she trailed a little behind him. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Evie. You did well.”

They came to a stop at the edge of a plaza, at the heart of which was a spring. There must have been some underwater source feeding it from elsewhere, as it was filled with crystal clear water. The surface was as smooth as glass, and had it been below the pit it would surely reflect the night sky perfectly. Reeds and water plants grew at the spring’s edges, including beautiful flowers that Evie recognised as some kind of lotus.

In the near perfect darkness of the ruins the pure white petals almost seemed to give off an ethereal glow, and the centre of the flower was a bright yellow. They flourished in abundance despite the fact that no sunlight would have been able to reach them for longer than she could even hope to guess. They were soft to the touch even under undead fingers and she found herself utterly enthralled by them.

“They’re gorgeous,” she breathed, not knowing when the smile had spread over her face.

Beckett appeared at her side with that fond smile on his face again.

“They’re Egyptian lotuses,” he said, crouching down. “In Ancient Egypt they were believed to provide strength and power, and even today it’s the country’s national flower.”

For a while neither vampire said anything to the other, just appreciated a moment of peace in the wake of the previous night’s chaos. Then Evie received a face full of water. 

She spluttered, stumbling backwards onto her feet. The water dripped from her face, mingling with the remnants of the blood-sweat and she glared at Beckett who had the audacity to even _try_ and look innocent like his hand wasn’t dripping wet.

“Had an accident, did we?” he said airily, unable to keep himself from grinning.

There was a pause before Evie hissed, “you are _so_ dead.”

Beckett raised a brow, but whatever he expected her to do, it wasn’t for her to full body rush him and tackle him head first into the spring. They fell backwards with a splash and Evie wasted no time in pushing off of him further into the water before he had a chance to retaliate. She surfaced near the centre of the spring whereas Beckett was apparently still getting his bearings, pushing his long brown hair out of his face. 

So she ducked back under the water, though not before he caught a glimpse of her. Before she had a chance to launch another surprise attack, she found herself being grabbed at the scruff of her neck - or rather the back of her jacket - and plucked out of the water.

“Am I now?” Beckett growled, though he sounded more amused than genuinely annoyed with her.

“Sure are,” she gasped through a mouthful of water as she splashed more water up in his face.

A move that earned her being bodily tossed back into the water across the spring. If she had needed to breathe, the force of the impact might have winded her and forced her to surface. Indeed, the very human instinct nearly did seize her, but she pushed it down and instead she focused her blood to her eyes, enabling her to see through the gloom. She could vaguely make out Beckett’s legs on the far side of the spring, meaning he wasn’t committing to diving in after her just yet. Rather he seemed to be waiting for her to try and ambush him.

‘Let him,’ she decided. ‘We’ll see who can out-wait who.’

For a long time neither Gangrel moved, each undoubtedly watching the other, both anticipating that the other would make the first move.

Beckett would be the one to win that bet, seeing as he had three centuries worth of patience whereas Evie was seventeen and had almost none in comparison.

That being said, she had been the one to take down Ming Xiao in open combat, so she wasn’t reckless enough to charge him head on. Instead she picked her way slowly, carefully across the bottom of the spring, keeping in mind that he could _definitely_ see her by now and knew she was looking to leap out at him.

So she began to zig-zag, left then right then left again as she got closer and closer. Then Beckett dove for her, missing by a scant inch. She grabbed his arm and threw herself up and around until she was clinging to his back, arms locked around his neck and legs around his waist.

“Got you!” she yelled through a lungful of water and laughter.

“No,” Beckett shot back. “Got you!”

He threw himself backwards into the water with Evie taking the brunt of the impact. Not that it hurt, but it was enough to loosen her grip on him.

Then they were both above the water again, laughing so hard Evie wouldn’t be shocked if some of the droplets on her face were blood tears again. She pushed her hair back out of her eyes as she grinned uncontrollably at Beckett.

“And that, Young One,” he said once he caught his breath, “is why you don’t mess with your elders.”

“You started it,” she retorted.

“And finished it.”

She splashed at him defiantly, sticking her tongue out. He just ruffled her hair and they made their way back to the bank.

“So,” she said, sitting with her feet still in the water. “What was the point of that?”

“Hm?” Beckett glanced around at her, pausing as he rung out his hair.

“That. What was the point? Or am I supposed to believe you really just decided it’d be fun to play a game at a time like this?”

“Did I? Last I checked, _you_ ’ _re_ the one who tackled me,” he pointed out.

“Maybe. But you threw me. If you didn’t want to play, you could have just told me off,” she retorted. “So what was the point?”

There was a pause, and she almost expected sarcasm again. But she was learning that there were times when he did know better than to just whip out another witty retort.

“You looked positively miserable,” he said, sitting down beside her. “And seeing how we’ll be trapped down here for at least a couple of nights, the last thing I needed was to be trapped here with an angsty teenager.”

Nevermind.

“Seriously?” she deadpanned, arching a brow.

“Very.”

“You’re awful.”

He chuckled and for a while longer they sat in silence with only the gentle breeze for company. Then Beckett continued.

“Don’t worry. We’ll speak with Mukhtar when we get back, maybe find out who’s responsible for sending the Assamites,” he said.

“And what if he sent them?”

“He didn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because if he wanted you dead, he’d have had you killed the moment he laid eyes on you,” he explained. “Mukhtar Bey isn’t a man known for his political scheming. He’s very upfront on such things, and once he makes a decision he stands by it unless given reason not to.

“So either someone has convinced him that you are a threat that needs eliminating in the short time since we arrived, or, more likely, someone else is employing the Assamites. And then we’ll deal with it. Okay?”

Evie hesitated a moment, and then asked, “could it be the Sabbat?”

He blinked then chuckled.

“No. No, the Sabbat prefer to handle these things ‘in house’ so to speak,” he assured.

Well that was something. And it did make her feel a bit better than before.

It must have showed on her face because Beckett gave a satisfied nod, rose to his feet, and offered his hands. She took them and let him pull her up, and he led the way back through the village. 

Even though they were soaking wet, Evie felt significantly better than she had before. The dried blood-sweat had washed away, and what Beckett had said - that they would deal with whoever sent the assassins - had lifted her mood somewhat. 

Going to see the Prince would undoubtedly be terrifying, especially if it turned out that Beckett was wrong and he really _did_ want her dead, but for now she tried not to think about it. It was a problem for later.

Right now, they did need to focus on getting back to their land rover and back to civilisation.


	5. Protean

“Are you telling me that _four_ of your assassins have failed to kill them? There’s only two of them for god’s sake!” 

“Not at all. I’m telling you that the four we have sent have failed to return,” was the cool, clipped reply.

“That might as well be the same thing,” Leon snapped.

“Perhaps,” Tergyrius drawled. “They were Neonates, after all, and youth does make for reckless abandon…”

Leon ignored the implied insult, but only barely as he grit his teeth and paced the room, the phone still pressed to his ear.

“I hope you don’t expect payment until you can provide confirmation that those fleabags are dead,” he spat.

“I hope your master doesn’t usually allow you to commit business in his stead. You are hardly holding all the cards after all, Neonate. What would the Camarilla say if they learned your master was going behind their back in such a fashion to rid the night of one girl?”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Not at all, Neonate.” It was a shock that Leon’s teeth didn’t crack under the strain as he grit them ever tighter. “Consider it a warning. Tell your master he is to send his payment, and then we will discuss further attempts. With _him_.”

And before he could say another word, the line went dead and left only the dial tone buzzing in Leon’s ear.

He snarled and resisted the urge to throw his phone against the nearest wall. 

_You might be a Brujah, Leon, but that does not give you free reign to act like a petulant child_ , Victoria would remind him.

So he took a deep breath, held, and breathed out. Cool, calm, and collected, just like Roy had taught him. His passion and anger were pointless if they didn’t drive him forwards, and smashing a phone over some smug elder was not driving him forwards. So deep breath in and then out, over and over until the Beast finally settled. Not quite content, but settled.

Feeling considerably calmer, Leon left the room in search of Victoria, in order to inform her of the update. Chances were she would be in her office, monitoring the Anarch Situation. 

It seemed that Rodriguez was really capitalising on Lacroix’s death. And on that half-rotted werewolf head. Both were becoming something of a symbol to the Anarchs. That no matter how powerful their foes - whether through strength of influence or strength of arms - they could be overcome. It wouldn’t be easy, and it wouldn’t be pretty, but it could be done. Within a week of Lacroix’s death, sprays of the Brujah clan mark and severed wolf heads were popping up all over LA’s walls in bright, bold red paint, and it had the local Kine completely baffled. Officials were speculating if the symbols were related to the so-called ‘terrorist attack’ on the tower and were now investigating the link between them.

For all the Anarchs talk of living free without exposing themselves to humans, they were still a bunch of chest pounders who didn’t know how to keep it down. It was disgraceful. To think he was associated with them, even if only by way of clan.

Even as he knocked on the office door and entered, the idea made him feel a little ill.

Victoria’s office was second in grandness only to Roy’s. A large square room, it was panelled with dark wood and had a plush rug lining the floor. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, and a bookcase lined the leftmost wall. In the centre of the wall, the bookcase framed a monitor that was currently switched off, and opposite it at the desk was Victoria herself.

She was tapping away at her computer and didn’t even look up as Leon entered. Instead she held up a single finger, and that meant, ‘I’m busy, wait a minute.’ So he strolled the length of the office to the windows.

The heavy velvet curtains were drawn back to provide a view of the gardens on the rear end of the estate. While the front was intentionally left as a gnarled, overgrown mess, the hidden gardens were manicured to perfection. Even now there were ghouls working to water the flowers, prune the hedgerows, and clear the pathways.

Lisa and the ghoul, Heather, were visible as they took a stroll through the gardens together arm in arm. Leon scoffed at the sight of them, which caused Victoria to raise a brow.

“I’d advise you to keep that attitude in check around our guest, Leon,” she said curtly. “We need her.”

“I’m aware. Doesn’t mean I need to like it,” he said dismissively as he turned from the windows.

“Of course not. You don’t like much of anything. I take it that the Assamites are demanding payment?”

“Yeah. They’ve lost four assassins and can’t even prove they’ve killed the fleabags,” he snorted, shaking his head as he moved back towards her desk.

Finally she looked up from her computer and removed her hands from the keyboard, resting them on the desktop with her fingers laced together.

“Need I remind you that one of those ‘fleabags’ is not only a very famous Noddist and historian, but also an incredibly powerful Kindred who is _not_ to be taken lightly?” she said in that irritating tone; light but a touch condescending. 

“I’m aware of Beckett’s reputation,” he shot back, feeling the Beast welling up inside. “Which is why Terygrius was instructed to send the best he had available. Instead they sent a pack of Neonates to try and kill him and the girl!”

Victoria just looked at him deadpan.

“And you believe you could do better?” She then sighed and shook her head. “What exactly did Terygrius _say_?”

Leon relayed what had been said and Victoria pursed her lips.

“I’ll have a word with Roy and see what he thinks we should do next. Until then, I suggest you take a walk or… Whatever it is you do to calm yourself down. Short of breaking things, of course.”

Leon took that as his dismissal and left, rolling his eyes. At the very least the fleabags weren’t going anywhere any time soon. That, at least, was in their favour.

[]

While Protean claws were definitely better for digging than regular human hands, Evie definitely didn’t find herself making much progress through the dirt and sand that stood between them and the surface. The huge white wolf to her left, however, was having a much easier time of it, with its upper half being half hidden through the tunnel it had successfully started work on.

Not that the progress would last, if the last five nights had been proof of anything. They would make a decent enough headway and then the weight of the blockage above would cause it to give out and then they’d spend another night clearing it out of the way while wondering how much longer they’d have to dig until they saw the night sky above.

Sometimes she wondered if there were Assamites above them, pushing more sand on top of the entrance to keep them from getting out. It wouldn’t surprise her.

“Ow!” she yelped.

The wolf had given her a nip on the hand. She must have lost concentration again. 

“I get it, I get it,” she huffed. “Not all of us have shovels for paws you know.”

Beckett glowered at her before sticking his head back up the hole and resumed digging, kicking out large volumes of sand and dirt behind him. And she did the same, pushing as much sand back out of the passage with her clawed hands as she could manage.

After another hour of this she straightened up, sweating profusely, and stretched her back. She was sore and aching and she just really wanted to lie down.

“This fucking sucks,” she groaned. 

Beckett - still in wolf form - backed out of his hole and gave her a look that said ‘do I need to nip you again?’

“Well it’s easy for you, you have paws. You’re made for digging. These-” she held up her clawed hands. “-are not!”

She dragged a hand through her hair and huffed, feeling really quite fed up. 

They’d had to ration what blood they had in the thermos between them, and it had left both vampires more than a little cranky. They were certainly much more short tempered with each other than usual. The Beast was not happy with such long intervals between such small feeds, and it was making itself known. It was becoming difficult to keep it placated.

At times Evie was sure she could feel a rather targeted frustration being sent her way. Beckett, after all, could turn into a bat and easily fly out. He had proven so several times in order to seek out any animals in the vicinity of the surface ruins to try and expand their blood supply. But aside from a few small rodents he didn’t find much, and it did little to curb their hunger. 

If she could do the same - or if she just wasn’t there - it wouldn’t be an issue in the first place. He could easily get out. But that meant leaving her behind, and that wasn’t an option now he had publicly acknowledged her as his childe. Adopted or not.

She flinched when a hand patted her on the shoulder and she looked up to see that Beckett was Beckett once more and not the wolf. He was holding out the thermos of blood.

“If you’re going to complain about being useless, then you might as well try to make yourself more useful,” he huffed. “Now is as good a time as any to become better skilled at the Protean Discipline.”

She stared at him, then at the thermos. The Beast whined longingly, but she hesitated.

“Can we really spare it when we can’t even guarantee that it’ll work? Or if I could even turn into anything useful?”

“No,” he said tersely. “But on the off chance it does, maybe there’ll be less whining.”

She glowered back at him but took the thermos regardless. A mouthful of blood curbed the worst of the hunger, but Beckett gave her a small nod. Permission to drink a little more. Considering what she was about to attempt, it made sense that he wouldn’t risk her frenzying. Especially when he was the only other source of blood they had.

“Remember what we’ve talked about,” he said firmly as he started to pace as he did when he began to explain something. She wondered if it was a hangover from his lecturing days. “When using the Discipline in this way, your body reflects your understanding of the natural world. You can’t just think of an animal. You need to expand your mind. Your understanding.

“When you use your claws, you do so with the knowledge they will do harm. Expand from that. Your hands and feet must become tools not just for running and digging, but pursuing prey or fleeing a greater predator, or for creating shelter or rooting out a burrow. Your nose is not just for smelling, but picking out scents left behind by others. Friends, foes, prey. Your eyes must see tracks and movement, to help you hunt. Or to hide.

“You and the Beast must have a mutual understanding of survival and the world around you. Don’t resist the change. Embrace it. But remember who you are.”

She closed her eyes, focusing, letting the blood flow through her arms and her legs, to her eyes and everywhere else through her body. The Beast purred in interest, nudging at the bars of its cage which began to bend and open, allowing it to push through bit by bit. Its jaws gaped open, its tongue lolled out and-!

…Nothing happened.

She opened her eyes and she was the same as ever. Still on two legs with human hands. And considering that Beckett merely looked disappointed rather than looking at her with an ironic kind of amusement, she guessed there had been no other changes either.

“I can’t do it!” she shouted, stomping her foot in frustration. “Every fucking time!”

“It’s a difficult power to master,” Beckett sighed. “Especially when you keep doubting your ability to remain in control.”

She glared at him.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It was obvious from your face,” he said bluntly. “The fear you felt. You were scared to let the Beast surface, and you were unwilling to surrender any control to it. So long as that is the case, you will never master the Protean Discipline.”

He turned back to the mouth of the tunnel.

“Go calm yourself down, and come back when you’re ready to do some more digging,” he instructed tersely. “You can try again tomorrow when you can spare the blood.”

And like it was nothing, he shifted back into his wolf form and resumed digging.

Evie growled low in her throat, spun on her heel, and stalked away.

She knew it wasn’t his fault that he was right, or that they were both frustrated. They were both hungry and fed up with being trapped, and every time the breeze dropped and the ruins fell silent it was impossible to stop that split second of fear that the Assamites had returned. It made for a tense atmosphere that left them both with frayed nerves.

The entrance was about ten minutes from the settlement that they had made their home base for the duration of their imprisonment. Fifteen if she dragged her feet.

Beckett had been correct that it was nothing special. Just a lost forgotten village that didn’t have a name anymore. And certainly not one the Setites had been using to house artefacts to keep them hidden from the likes of Beckett. Every night that went by, they became more and more certain that the trail had been nothing more than a ruse by the Assamites to lure them to such a remote location in the first place.

It could be a worse place to be trapped, she supposed. Sure it could do with having more animals to feed on and not being sealed off from the surface by a seemingly endless wall of sand, but at the very least they had a decent place to sleep during the day and a clean water supply. The latter wasn’t much use for a vampire in the traditional sense, but they could wash off after a long night of digging, and a bit of cool water helped to curb the bad tempers of the two vampires.

Evie reached the spring at the heart of the village and knelt beside the water, splashing some into her face. The blood-sweat she’d worked up came away and she peeled off her jacket to give her body a quick once over.

But as she dipped her hand into the water - intending to splash some down her back - she realised it hadn’t made a sound. The breeze, which was still blowing, had gone mute, and it was like all the noise in the world had ceased.

This time she was ready.

Evie reached into her jacket pocket and grabbed the gun and the blade that she’d been carrying and tensed, eyes scanning the shadows, though she didn’t see any sign of movement or even a whisper of another Kindred. 

Beckett had told her a bit more about the kinds of Disciplines the Assamites used, and Obfuscate was among them.

She backed into the water, just far enough that her feet were firmly touching the bottom but any assassins would need to follow after her. Obfuscate allowed them to become invisible. It didn’t make them permeable. The movement in the water would reveal them easily enough. And if they didn’t want to risk drawing Beckett into the fray, they wouldn’t risk using loud weapons like a shotgun.

The minutes dragged by as Evie stood there. If it wasn’t for the fact that every time she shifted she didn’t hear the sloshing of water around her legs, she’d be wondering if she was stupid. But the Assamites weren’t trying anything yet. They weren’t running the risk of exposing themselves openly, but weren’t backing off. She could try and launch the first attack and pray she successfully exposed one of them, but the chances that that would succeed were slim to none.

The Beast growled lowly, not liking being unable to see where the enemy was.

See…

The thought struck her oddly as she reflected on what Beckett had said earlier.

_Your nose is not just for smelling, but picking out scents left behind by others. Friends, foes, prey._

Of course! She was so fixated on seeing or hearing the Assamites, she hadn’t considered her other senses. 

So she focused her blood towards her nose, heightening her sense of smell and she caught it. An aroma she couldn’t really place. An oil or incense of some kind that she instinctively recognised, as it made the Beast recoil, but couldn’t remember where she had encountered it. Maybe during her fight with the Assamite? She’d been more focused on not getting killed than picking out scents, so it was possible. 

It was coming from the space between the two buildings directly ahead of her, from the doorway to the left, and from the roof to her right. Meaning there was at least three of them.

She let herself seem to relax, allowed her shoulders to drop as she made her way back towards the bank. Let them think she believed she was somehow mistaken even if the water made no sound as she moved through it. Let them think they had the upper hand.

One step onto the bank, then two steps, bending forwards as if to pick up her jacket and…!

She broke left, fired the gun and dove forward with the blade. The bullet impact revealed the startled Assamite as they were thrown onto their back. Their eyes went wide with shock and then fear as Evie thrust the blade into their neck and brought it down hard to the side, effectively decapitating them.

She didn’t wait for them to crumble into ash before she leapt back to her feet, dodging further into the house as the other Assamites broke from their perches. One let out a furious roar at the sight of their fallen comrade but Evie didn’t stop to look back, just ran into a back room where she knew there was a window she could crawl out of.

Tonight wasn’t the first time that Beckett had sent her away to calm down, and tonight the time she’d taken to explore was paying off.

She dropped onto the dirt street below the window and dodged into the shadows of the neighbouring house, crawling through another window and moving as carefully as she could through the next building. From the first house she could hear the remaining Assamites arguing furiously amongst themselves in Arabic, though it was a little muffled by the distance. 

They’d dropped the pretence of silence then.

Briefly she weighed her options. She could take a chance and hope the Assamites wouldn’t believe she’d risk staying so close to where they first caught her, and wouldn’t bother searching the house. Or she could try and stealth through the village to get back to Beckett.

She decided on the latter. It was risky, but it was better than letting herself get cornered after having only just given them the slip. 

She had a precious advantage, and knew she couldn’t waste time.

She moved through the house, climbed out of the first unshuttered window she could find and moved from cover to cover, huddling behind low stone walls, climbing through more windows and silently sneaking her way through buildings. She stopped dead in one when she heard a pair of feet landing heavily on the roof above, accompanied by frustrated murmuring, and she glanced around, looking for a hiding place.

There wasn’t much in the room except for a bookcase and a desk. 

Hiding under the desk would be a stupid plan, of course, but the bookcase… If done right it would slow the Assamite down, but it would definitely reveal her location. But the footsteps were moving across the roof - definitely not caring for silence - and so she did as her instincts told her to and edged her way behind the bookcase, trying not to make too much noise as she nudged it across the floor just enough that she could conceal herself.

From where she was hiding she didn’t see the dark figure drop from the roof into the doorway. They stepped over the threshold, giving the room a cursory scan before moving further into the space, eyes narrowed and weapon at the ready.

Evie focused her blood into her arms and when the Assamite drew close enough, she shoved.

The bookcase came down with a crash and the Assamite yelled as they hit the ground, pinned down. Evie jumped over it - there was a pained grunt when her foot hit the bookcase as she pushed off - and ran for the door. The Assamite behind her was shouting in Arabic again, and she knew she had precious seconds before their partner arrived. 

She didn’t dare make a run for Beckett yet. He and the entrance were still too far away. They’d catch her before he knew to look for her.

So she darted into an alleyway adjacent to the building and disappeared into the shadows once more. In the distance she could hear the Assamites spitting what were likely curses and a heavy crash that was likely the bookcase hitting the floor again.

There was still too little space between her and them. She had to get back to Beckett.

[]

For another ten minutes, Evie picked her way through buildings and alleys, horribly aware of the now-definitely-angry Assamites drawing in closer and closer. Sooner or later she’d have to either take them on or make a break for Beckett to even up the odds. Both seemed equally risky. 

The advantage she’d had against her enemies in LA was that they underestimated her. They looked at her and saw a child, a pawn; someone who got by on pure luck and with the resources provided by others. Maybe they’d been right in the beginning, but it hadn’t saved them when she finally had enough.

These assassins knew better and weren’t banking solely on her not knowing what they were capable of. They, unlike many in LA, were prepared.

Finally the time to make a choice arrived. From her current hiding spot there were no more hiding places, just a straight shot to Beckett. And it was a sprint she’d never be able to outrun an Assamite on. Not as a human anyway.

_“You and the Beast must have a mutual understanding of survival and the world around you. Don’t resist the change. Embrace it. But remember who you are.”_

She nodded, less to Beckett’s voice in her head but more to herself as she drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. She didn’t focus on the blood and the way it moved through her body this time, but rather on how she planned to evade the Assamites. She needed to run, and run fast. She needed to evade a predator that was hunting her until she could reach her ally who would aid her in the fight. And she needed a form that would help her to do just that.

The Beast pressed at the bars of its cage which began to wane against it, allowing it to slip through with its tongue lolling out of its jaws and its eyes gleaming.

But this time she didn’t shove it down or call it back to heel. She let it slip the cage… And as she did, she felt herself change.

When the Assamites spotted Evie making a break from the shadows of a nearby building, they didn’t see a human girl, but a jet black wolf. Not yet an adult, the cub had long legs and a skinny body that it hadn’t grown into. But it was fast, and it was making a beeline for its older and very dangerous ally, and that was their concern.

The Assamites pursued Evie as she scurried as fast as her legs could carry her, which was faster than she could have ran as a human but not quite as fast as she had hoped. She’d seen the way Beckett loped in his wolf form. He could move at over forty miles per hour when he really wanted to. She supposed it was only fitting that her own Protean form matched her adolescence, but it was less than helpful at the moment. She could only hope she got to Beckett before they got to her.

Her ears pricked up at the sound of a gun cocking, and she instinctively swerved as the bullet exploded against the dirt with a crack that was magnified to her much-more-sensitive ears. However, having never been a wolf before, she struggled to coordinate four legs instead of her usual two and had to spend a split second scrambling to get all four paws on the ground and running again. It gave the Assamites time to drastically close the distance between her and them.

Then she heard it. The pounding of huge paws running at top speed, coming towards her.

They were bearing down on her. Or they had been until the now-gigantic white wolf bounded forwards and planted itself firmly over her. 

Beckett’s hackles were raised and he bared his long fangs at them in a snarl, growling deep in his throat as he crouched low over Evie, shielding her from their view and their weapons.

The Assamites paused, calculating how to go about the fight now that Beckett was involved. They prowled in separate directions, one on each flank. They were almost like a pair of wolves themselves as they sized the pair up for any exploitable weaknesses they could make use of. Evie rose to her paws and nudged at Beckett’s underside, moving her muzzle in the direction of the Assamite on their left.

His amber eyes flickered down at her and a dip in his growl indicated he understood.

A split second later he launched himself at the vampire to their right while Evie broke left. As one Assamite went down screaming as the white wolf barrelled them over and latched onto their throat, Evie transformed back into her human form brandishing the blade.

The Assamite parried the blow but hadn’t noticed the gun before it was pressed against their ribs. Evie squeezed the trigger and with a deafening crack, they flew backwards into the dirt, crumbling into ash as their chest had all but exploded.

She turned around just in time to see the white wolf stand upright on its hind legs and transform back into Beckett.

He looked around at Evie and cracked a smile.

“Well. Maybe that walk was all you needed after all,” he remarked, extending an arm towards her.

Relief flooded her and she ran over, throwing her arms around Beckett’s middle. She felt the rumble in his chest as he chuckled and hugged her back, squeezing tightly with as much affection as he could muster.

Then he eased away and placed both hands on her shoulders as he looked her up and down, checking for injuries.

“Are you hurt?”

“Nope, they didn’t even get the chance to try,” she said, chest practically swelling with pride as she grinned up at him.

He just grinned wryly, clapped her shoulder, and steered her back in the direction of the buried entrance.

“Good. Then you can make those new paws useful and get back to work.”


	6. Lotus

The small black wolf cub wriggled out from beneath his chest, small paws scrabbling at the last few layers of sand between them and the surface. The much larger white wolf pushed the sand back with his own, much larger, paws so that the tunnel better accommodated his size.

Beckett might not have needed to breathe for over three hundred years now - save for talking - but those first whispers of fresh air promising freedom were gulped down eagerly nonetheless, and he wasn’t the only one eager to see the surface again. 

As he nudged the wolf cub upwards with his snout, he received a solid _thwack_ in the face by her wagging tail and he huffed in irritation. Evie just yapped over her shoulder in response and returned her focus to moving upward.

Then there was the first break as sand tumbled back into his face and he sneezed, shaking his head. Easier said than done in such tight quarters. Evie was scrabbling for purchase against the sand above, trying to drag herself up out of the tunnel. Beckett - after receiving a paw in his eye - gave her another nudge with his snout, helping her clamber up, before hauling himself out after her.

The first thing he did when he was finally free and standing on all four paws was to shake himself off, kicking up a cloud of dust in all directions as the sand billowed from his fur. Then he took in his surroundings.

The surface ruins hadn’t changed a bit since he’d last been to the surface to hunt. Still the same crumbling pillars and stone debris, and the gaping pit they’d climbed down in the first place. The only new addition was the wolf cub who was currently bouncing around in excitement and yippingly happily before bounding back over to Beckett. She lay her muzzle flat against the ground between her paws with her tail up in the air, then bounced forwards and back, yapping at him between pauses. As if she thought she could egg him into playing at a time like this.

Beckett just rolled his eyes, gave her a quick nip on the ear before he locked his jaws around her middle, picked her up, and carried her away. At first she gave an indignant yelp and tried to wriggle her way free before eventually giving up with a huff. Beckett just gave a satisfied ‘hmph’ before he took off at a full sprint into the desert.

First things first, they needed to see if the land rover was where they’d left it. After a week, it was doubtful; the Assamites had probably done away with it, and if not them, some mortal authority may have come by, searched the vicinity for any signs of the owner, and when they found none, they would have towed it away.

But if, by the slimmest chance, it was still there, then they could be safely back in the safety of their hotel room before sunrise. If it wasn’t, they’d need a new plan.

Following the road was one option, but not the most ideal. While Beckett was certain he could cover most of that distance in his current form, they would need to return to their human shapes when closer to the city to avoid drawing mortal attention. After all, a pair of wolves of their breed were hardly a common sight in Egypt and could cause a panic if sighted in the city.

Or at least he would. Evie would more likely be considered ‘cute’ rather than dangerous, and be treated as an adorable little runaway rather than a potential threat to the safety of the public. 

The irony was hardly lost on him.

The second option that occurred to him would be to call Cesare and tell him to come pick them up. And to bring some blood while he was at it. It would undoubtedly be faster and would negate the need to hunt once they got back to Cairo, but the chances of the ghoul being able to pick them up and get them back to the hotel before sunrise was slim to none. They’d still need to hunker down for the day. And there was always the risk that he was being watched. If the Assamites saw him abruptly departing Cairo, they would surely realise that their assassins had failed.

Beckett decided it was a bridge to cross when they got to it. For now he just focused on running across the sands, keeping his mental map in mind and kicking up clouds of dust as he went.

As predicted, the rover was gone, leaving only an empty road stretching out in both directions.

With a low growl of frustration, Beckett lowered Evie to the ground. The second her paws were on the ground she promptly shook herself and looked at him sulkily, clearly unimpressed with being carried in such a fashion. He gave her a gentle nip on the ear before resting on his haunches to deliberate on their next step. 

Walking back really didn’t appeal to him right now. Cesare was their best best for securing blood and getting back to the hotel quickly, but he still had his concerns. Much as he loathed to admit it, the fact that Cesare was his ghoul wasn’t exactly a secret in Cairo. If the Assamites were indeed watching him-

The Beast whined longingly, craving the sweet, warm coppery taste of blood, and not the thin sour kind offered by rats. It wanted something more substantial than that and it wanted it now.

Beckett huffed. He supposed that was that then. He didn’t fancy getting back to Cairo and promptly frenzying at the sight of the first human he came across. So he rose to his paws and then onto his hind legs as he transformed back into his human form, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his phone.

The reception was almost non-existent but it was still considerably better than he would have gotten with a standard cellphone. And barely a second later a flood of messages poured in, clearly having been delayed by the lack of signal they’d had underground. All of them were from Cesare, and each was more frantic than the last. Beckett heaved a sigh, dialled the number, and lifted the phone to his ear.

The dial tone barely had a chance to play before the ghoul answered.

“Signore Beckett!” he exclaimed. “I was so very worried about you when you did not respond to my messages. Is all well for you and Miss Byrne? Do you need me to-?”

“We’re fine, Cesare,” Beckett grunted irritably. “Just ran into a few complications at the ruins.”

“Ah, I am so pleased to hear you are unhurt, Signore. If anything had happened to-”

“Cesare, the rover’s gone,” he interrupted curtly. “I need you to come pick us up as soon as you’re able.”

“Gone? Signore, might I ask what happened?”

He sighed before giving him a quick summary of events, with Cesare listening intently on the other end. Evie meanwhile was pawing at something in the sand and started yapping and bouncing around it. A quick glance revealed that she had found, and was now playing with, a terrified rat.

“Don’t play with your food,” Beckett hissed before turning his attention back to Cesare. “Anyway, so we need you to come and get us. And bring a few blood bags. The thermos is empty and all we’ve had to feed on is rats.”

“Of course Signore. You will be waiting at the location from your notes?”

“At the roadside, yes.”

“Very well, I will be there as soon as possible, Signore.”

“Good.”

And with that he hung up before Cesare could say another word and turned back to Evie who had finally decided to sate her hunger rather than continue playing. He raised a brow at her and it was only when she had finished and caught him staring did she finally shift back into her human form.

She had the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Remember what we talked about,” he said warningly.

“I know, I know… Don’t get lost in it,” she huffed, shrugging. “It was just nice to… not worry. You know?”

He sighed and shook his head.

“I know. So long as you remember.”

There was a pause as neither of them really knew what to say.

“So… Cesare’s coming to get us?”

Beckett nodded.

“And he’s bringing blood, so at least we won’t need to worry about being half-starved when we next go hunting.”

Evie breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good. It’s worse when you’re hungry, trying to make sure you don’t take too much…” She scratched the back of her neck and looked out over her shoulder, as if she was trying to look at anything other than Beckett. “That’s the last thing I need to be worrying about right now.”

He hummed in agreement and followed her gaze.

It would be hours before Cesare arrived and standing around doing nothing didn’t really appeal to him. He could do it if need be, but having something to do would be preferable. And that was when the idea formed in his head; curbing the worst of the hunger and providing a much needed distraction for them both.

He patted Evie on the shoulder and beckoned her to follow.

“We have some time to do a little hunting before Cesare gets here. Let’s see which wolf catches the most rats.”

His flaccid dead heart warmed at the beam on her face. 

[]

It didn’t last long though because as it so happened, Evie was a dirty cheater. 

More than once she darted out from between his front paws to grab the rat he had found before darting back underneath him, forcing him to focus on rearranging his paws only for her to run off again with the now-dead rat clenched between her sharp little teeth, all while looking far too pleased with herself as she bounded across the sand.

She at least had the good graces to share the spoils every now and then. And not just because he kept knocking her over with his snout to make her drop the stolen rat she was carrying. 

On the rare occasion he sat down to feed, he found himself being pestered by Evie who chewed on his ears and pulled on his tail to try and force him to continue playing. It earned her a decent nip, just to remind her to keep herself in check. She’d sulk and then get right back on to stealing his prey out from under him.

By the time they returned to the roadside with a couple of hours until dawn, the thirst was slackened enough that it wasn’t at the forefront of their attention. One burden always replaced another, however.

“So… What _is_ the plan, exactly?” Evie asked as they sat by the road, watching for any sign of Cesare. 

Not that it really mattered if he showed up that very second, considering they definitely wouldn’t reach Cairo, let alone their hotel, before daybreak.

“We’ll need to go to the Prince,” Beckett said firmly. “Try and get to the bottom of this. If a Camarilla Elder is defying Hardestadt, then Mukhtar might be willing to help expose them.”

“Might be?” she repeated, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.

He shrugged.

“Since the attack didn’t happen within his domain, he may reason this isn’t his problem to resolve. But Mukhtar is a fair man. If there’s a chance the Assamites might attack you again, he may provide us with some assistance.”

“And if he doesn’t?” she snapped, turning to him and part of him physically hurt to see the utter despair in her eyes. That knowledge that the events of LA were going to be haunting her nights for years to come, no matter how far out of her control they had been.

He clasped a hand over her shoulder.

“Then we’ll figure out something else. This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve ended up on the Camarilla’s bad side. Probably won’t be the last either.”

Evie didn’t say anything at first, just stared at him. She looked… perplexed. He wasn’t certain what he’d said to warrant confusion, but-

“You’d really risk fighting the Camarilla over this? Even when you don’t have to?” she asked incredulously, interrupting the thought before he could finish it. “Wouldn’t that just make… _everything_ harder for you?”

Ah. That was it. He just chuckled and glanced over at her. 

“If I wasn’t willing to pick a fight with the Camarilla over this, I wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of finding you on that train, would I?” 

He got only silence in return but the way she’d turned her head away and brought her knees up to her chest said enough. So he simply reached over and ruffled her hair, as he’d grown quite fond of doing, before focusing on the empty stretch of road ahead of them.

A half hour later there was still no sign of Cesare and dawn was an hour and a half away. Evie’s eyes kept drooping and she was clearly fighting to stay awake, so Beckett decided it was time to prepare to shelter for the coming day. He rose to his feet and shifted into his wolf form and began digging.

“What are you doing?” Evie yawned, then got to her feet and moved around to his side so that she wouldn’t risk receiving a faceful of sand and dirt.

Beckett just focused on digging until he had carved a decently deep burrow into the earth. He then turned to Evie and jerked his head from her to the burrow. She got the idea quickly enough.

She shifted into her wolf form and crawled inside, curling up into a ball at the bottom with her tail laid over her nose. Any lesser eyes would have only seen a pair of bright yellow eyes staring back out of the hole.

Beckett then pushed the sand and dirt back into place, effectively burying her from the sun’s rays, before he shifted back into his human form and laid his backpack over the top of the burrow. A little added security, and a clear sign to Cesare. He didn’t like the idea of leaving his possessions in the open where anyone could find them, but no one else had come this way, so with any luck Cesare would be the only one to discover the pack.

Once he was satisfied that there was nothing else to do but wait for the day to pass, he melded with the earth and slept.

[]

“You look wonderful, darling,” Lisa cooed, pressing her hands together in delight as she inspected Heather. 

Heather found it very hard to disagree, even if the nasty little voice in the back of her head said otherwise. She wore a long, backless evening dress made from a beautiful, deep-green velvet. Her hair hung in gentle red curls and it was the first time that she could see herself clearly without her glasses.

It had taken time to get used to drinking blood, let alone the blood of a vampire, but now she wondered why she’d been so hesitant in the first place. It was, simply put, wonderful. She felt stronger, reacted faster, and just so much more alive… Just like that night in the clinic.

Her stomach turned a little even at the brief flash of memory before she pushed it down.

The last few weeks had been spent settling in. Lisa showed her around the castle and its gardens, took the time to teach her about the new world she’d found herself in, and even took her to the nearest town to expand upon her wardrobe during her stay. Honestly she just might be the most wonderful person Heather had ever met, and she shared her blood so willingly.

Unlike Evie-

Again Heather pushed down the thought before it really fully formed, yet her stomach still twisted into a guilty knot.

Her feelings on Evie had been confused as of late and resentment came to her more easily, even though she didn’t _want_ to resent Evie. She was sure the girl had her reasons for keeping so many secrets… And yet…

“Heather darling?”

She jumped and wobbled on her heels. Lisa caught her arm and steadied her, then gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Getting lost in your thoughts again, dear?”

“...A little…” She shook her head. “I’m still struggling to make sense of everything.”

Lisa let her hands slide down Heather’s upper arms and squeezed gently, and Heather could almost feel the gentle soothingness of her presence washing over her.

“I know it’s difficult to understand the motivations of someone you never truly knew, which is why Roy plans to tell you everything over dinner tonight,” she said reassuringly. “He wants you to understand exactly what Evie has done to him, and to you. After that… well, you’ll have to draw your own conclusions.”

Heather nodded stiffly. 

She’d not seen much of Roy. He had greeted her warmly upon her arrival, but was otherwise very busy with some sort of business. If she had to guess he was trying to find Evie. Why he was so keen to, she still didn’t understand, but it sounded like she had caused him some personal affront. 

Maybe tonight that mystery would finally be solved.

Somewhere in the distance a bell tolled and Lisa glanced at her watch before smiling at Heather.

“Speaking of which, we ought to get going.” She looped their arms together and steered Heather towards the door. “It’s time you learned the real story.”

[]

Ordinarily bagged blood was some of the absolute worst to drink, being only a step above rats. It was cold and slightly too thick in a way that was reminiscent of curdled milk, and it was generally unpleasant. But after a week of rationed mouthfuls supplemented by rat, it was better than nothing. 

Evie sat in the back seat, staring out of the window as she sucked on her blood pack like it was a capri sun, and Beckett discarded his own empty pack before giving Cesare a more detailed rundown of events, as well as the plan moving forward. 

Then, and only then, did he pull out his cellphone.

“Beckett. I was wondering if I’d ever hear from you again. I’ve heard a few interesting rumours these last few nights,” Mukhtar drawled.

“I’m sure you have. I’m on route to Cairo, and I need a word as soon as possible. Tonight if possible.”

“That will depend entirely on how long it takes you to arrive. If you’re not back at least two hours before sunrise, it will wait until tomorrow.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Mukhtar audibly sniffed on the other end of the line and there was a faint scratching noise, like a nail on fabric.

“A word of advice Beckett. Be watchful when you return. The Assamites are sure to be watching for any sign of you… and your childe, I presume?”

“They failed to destroy her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It is. I see she lives up to her reputation of being surprisingly difficult to kill… for a fledgling, anyway,” he remarked, as casually as one might do when commenting on the weather. “I hear that even Lacroix’s pet… the Nagloper? Yes, I hear that he failed to bring her down. Either the Assamites are losing their touch or they underestimated the need for their best.”

“They’re as deadly as ever, I’m afraid,” Beckett replied. “But none of them could have been much older than a century. Give or take a few decades.”

Mukhtar snorted.

“You’d think they’d know better, considering what happened in LA. Still I am pleased to hear that you both survived. I’ll have it be known that you and your childe will be under my protection once you reach the city. It should deter further attempts for the time being.”

“Thank you sir. We’ll see you soon.”

“Until then. Good evening, Beckett.”

Mukhtar hung up first, leaving Beckett to thumb his phone idly as he turned some thoughts over in his head.

He’d suspected that the Prince wasn’t involved with the incident, but nothing was impossible for a Kindred. Still he found his nagging concerns eased, if only a little. Now if only the rest of his worries were so easily alayed.

Truth be told, much as he kept telling Evie they’d sort this mess out, he really didn’t know how to go about doing that. If a Camarilla Elder wanted Evie dead then what _was_ there to be done? Killing them would just make more problems and bring more enemies their way, but ignoring them just invited future attempts. And on the off chance that it was a member of the Inner Circle, their reach would be long. There would be few places that would be totally safe and they’d have to stay there a long time before the ire of their enemy hopefully subsided. And that idea didn’t appeal to him, even if he did have an eternity on his side.

He didn’t hold it against Evie. He had known that something like this was a possibility when he took her on, but sending bloody _Assamites_ after a _fledgling_? Someone was holding a serious grudge over Lacroix’s death - and it could only be because of Lacroix because the Assamites would never take a contract from the Kuei Jin - but what he didn’t understand was why go through this much trouble and risk defying Hardestadt himself.

If there was one thing Beckett wouldn’t abide by, it was a mystery that refused to be solved. He’d get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

“So what did the Prince say?”

He found himself drawn out of his thoughts by Evie addressing him from the backseat.

“He’s agreed to meet with us tonight, provided we’re there two hours before sunrise. Any later than that, and we’ll meet him tomorrow night,” he said. He then glanced over at Cesare. “Can you make it in that time?”

“Provided that the traffic isn’t poor, Signore.”

He pulled a face.

“Traffic in Cairo is always poor, Cesare.”

“So do you think the Prince will help us?” Evie asked before Cesare could reply.

“I don’t think he’s involved,” said Beckett. “He warned me that the Assamites will be watching for us-”

Her eyes darkened a little.

“-but he’s extending us his protection while we’re in Cairo. So trying anything means pissing him off. They won’t want to take that kind of risk.”

“So… we’re safe as long as we’re in the city?” she asked tentatively. 

“We should be, yes.”

Some of the tension in her body gave way and she relaxed as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The rest of the car ride was spent in a companionable silence as the radio hummed, and for that Beckett was grateful.

He was less grateful for the travesty that was Cairo’s traffic and so he texted Mukhtar to inform him that they wouldn’t be able to make it to the palace within the allotted time and would be back to speak with him the next night. He didn’t receive a reply but Evie pointed out over his shoulder that the message had been received and read, so Mukhtar had indeed seen it.

While Beckett was certainly better caught up with technology than most vampires of his age, he still found himself being shown up by the younger, more-technologically-inclined youth who knew their way around such devices blindfolded.

By the time they finally reached their hotel, dawn was barely less than an hour away. Once the two vampires had gathered their bags, Cesare departed to return to the airport to keep an eye on the plane, and they made their way to their room.

The second they were through the door, Evie dropped her bag on the floor and lay face down on the nearest bed.

“Don’t care if it’s the right one,” she muttered, voice muffled by the duvet. “Tired.”

“At least take your boots off first,” he scolded playfully, giving her heel a gentle whack as he passed. “You’ll get the damn thing full of sand otherwise.”

She groaned in disgust and pushed herself up into a sitting position to do exactly that. 

Beckett drew the blackout curtains securely over the windows, making sure that not even the slightest crack of sunlight could escape into the room. He hadn’t gone through this whole ordeal to get immolated when he was sleeping.

“Ugh, I hate sand,” Evie grunted as she pulled off her jacket. She then rose to her feet, grabbing her bag off the floor. “Fuck this, I’m taking a shower.”

He rolled his eyes as she disappeared into the bathroom and the water started running.

“You realise that being dead means the corpse smell never really goes away, right?” he called teasingly as he sorted through his bags, searching for his journal.

“Fuck you,” she called back, and he chuckled to himself.

He pulled out the journal - it was certainly getting very full - and rummaged around for a pen. He might as well take some time to commit events to paper while it was still fresh in his mind, so he began to write. 

About twenty minutes later Evie re-emerged from the bathroom, in clean clothes and (presumably) free of sand.

“Have I mentioned that I hate sand?”

“Several times. I lost count somewhere after the thirtieth time,” he replied, which earned him a smack on the shoulder. He grinned and then looked over at her. “What is it that you don’t like? That it’s coarse, rough, and irritating and it gets everywhere?”

“Well obvi-” She stopped dead and stared at him with a look of pure disgust for nearly a whole minute before saying, with as much contempt as possible, “you are such a fucking nerd.”

“Yes I am. And you’re stuck with me for the next decade and a half.”

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind, I will happily let the Camarilla chop my head off if it means escaping you and your dumb movie references,” she groaned as she shook her head. “I’m going to bed. Night. Or day, or whatever.”

She crawled under her duvet so that her back was to him, pulled it up over her head, and within minutes fell completely and utterly still within her cocoon of sheets.

Beckett himself could feel the tugging lethargy of dawn not long after and knowing that he too would be passing out whether he liked it or not, he decided to finish up a brief summary of events in his journal and record it properly at a later date. Once that was done, he followed his childe’s example and crawled into bed, letting the day sleep wash over him.

[]

The following evening brought them to Manial Palace, and a ghoul brought them to the residential building as opposed to the facsimile throne in the gardens. Mukhtar was waiting in a large drawing room, with a pitcher of blood sat on the coffee table and three empty glasses.

He looked vaguely annoyed, though it lessened once he laid eyes on Beckett entered the room with Evie trailing behind. She didn’t immediately make eye contact with the Prince as her stomach was in knots but she knew it wouldn’t go unnoticed. So, as they sat down on the sofa opposite Mukhtar, she forced herself to look at him.

“Welcome back, my friends,” he said smoothly. “I am glad to see you whole and well, all things considered.”

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, and for offering your protection,” Beckett replied.

“I trust the Assamites have not given you trouble?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. And if they are wise, things will stay that way. What I wonder is what it is you think I can do, Beckett.” He poured blood into each glass, and took the nearest one for himself. “These attacks did not happen in my domain. While I can protect you in Cairo, once you leave, there is no way to guarantee your safety or the safety of your childe.”

“But you could help us in other ways,” Beckett pointed out.

Mukhtar raised a brow as he took a sip from his glass.

“Explain.”

Evie took a glass and sipped, hoping the blood would ease her nerves a little.

“Considering that this is the first city Evie has been to since LA, I can only imagine the attack was the work of a Kindred who disagreed with the Camarilla’s decision to clear the charges against Evie and repeal the Blood Hunt,” Beckett explained. “So if there was a means to know which Kindred might hold such a sentiment…”

“There could be a means of exposing and dealing with them,” Mukhtar concluded. “So… you have a plan. And dare I ask why you’ve approached me about it?”

“Because as Prince, you have every right to be concerned about a Kindred responsible for the Final Death of another Prince. The Camarilla would be understanding of you wanting to be certain of whether or not this Kindred may become a potential threat to you.”

Evie’s stomach turned and Mukhtar raised a brow.

“What exactly are you suggesting, Beckett?”

“A hearing. Staged, of course, but only we need to know that. You could claim you didn’t know of Evie’s reputation or her history when you welcomed her into your domain, and decide to call for a meeting to clear up the matter once and for all. Invite the Prince, the Primogen Council, the Barons, hear what each of them has to say. And if anyone in particular still shows any animosity towards Evie, they’re worth investigating.”

Evie rose from her seat before he even finished speaking, her chest tightening as she walked around the back of the sofa towards the drawing room door. She only vaguely heard Beckett calling her back as she disappeared into the hallway. She barely just heard the door to the drawing room opening again in the distance as she was already on the ground floor and heading out the front door, back into the gardens.

She followed her feet for a long time, not really paying any attention to where she was or where she was going. Just walked as blood thundered in her ears and her thoughts drowned out the rest of the world.

A staged hearing? Really? That was Beckett’s big plan?

Invite the Prince, Primogen, and Barons… Like fuck she’d want to face any of them, not now, probably not ever. Users and liars and pretenders… Who was to say they wouldn’t all just rail against her now she had proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she wasn’t on any of their sides? Therese had called off the Blood Hunt, but she might have done that so she could get everyone focused on keeping LA from falling into chaos rather than pursuing a runaway fledgling. Given the opportunity, she could still urge Mukhtar to execute Evie, and not because of what she had done to Lacroix. But because of what she _knew_.

Beckett was the only person Evie had even told about Therese and Jeanette’s… situation, and neither sister knew about that. They’d been quite clear she wasn’t to tell anyone, but he had asked about unusual occurrences, and without the slightest clue what a Malkavian was how was she to know that it was perfectly ordinary to encounter Kindred like that? No one had ever told her anything. Was it really her fault she didn’t know anything about the different clans?

Even so, if Therese decided that Evie’s awareness of her situation was a problem, Beckett’s plan could give her an opportunity to try and resolve it without endangering her position.

And if enough of the LA Kindred _did_ speak against her, then what? Would Mukhtar honour his agreement of protection and clear her of suspicion, or would he become suspicious of her and decided it wasn’t worth the risk to let her live? Or would he believe in Evie’s innocence but choose to save face and execute her anyway?

Somehow it was worse because she’d not heard a whisper of this plan before now, only Beckett’s vague promises that they’d sort this mess out.

If this was him following up on said promises, she didn’t like it. At all.

Her eyes were burning with tears, and finally she realised she was without the slightest clue as to where she was. Even with heightened senses, she couldn’t hear or see any nearby ghouls. Either there weren’t any around tending this particular part of the garden right now, or the vegetation was keeping them out of sight.

Or they were trying their best not to be heard or spotted, and if that was the case they were doing it very well.

At the very least she didn’t see any sign of Beckett, which meant he either hadn’t followed her, or he hadn’t caught up to her yet. 

She didn’t know which was worse.

Still, she was feeling antsy and standing still wasn’t helping, so she continued to wander aimlessly through the gardens, not really knowing or caring where she was going, provided she was alone.

As she did so, her thoughts wandered back to Heather. 

How was she doing, Evie wondered. She’d left in such a hurry that she hadn’t really had time to really give Heather much thought… 

Had she given up hope of Evie returning, or was she frantically trying to find out what had happened to her? A knot of guilt formed itself in her stomach as she thought about it.

Rosa had said she could only trust Beckett and Mercurio, but Heather had only ever been loyal to a fault, completely willing to do whatever Evie needed of her at any given moment. Maybe it had been her blood that had done that. Maybe she had been enslaved by it. But every other ghoul she’d met maintained some sort of personality, so… maybe Heather had always been that way. Maybe Evie just became the focus of her altruism, and she would have done those things even without the enthralling powers of her vitae.

Or maybe Evie was just trying to make herself feel better.

In time she came to a walled pond. Egyptian lotuses blossomed across the surface, not unlike those they’d found in the ruins, alongside various other water flowers. A fountain bubbled faintly in the centre of the pond and upon when she took a closer look, Evie realised there were fish swimming just below the surface.

She sat on the low wall that rimmed the pond and dipped her fingertips into the cool water. Some of the fish swam closer to investigate and their cool scales brushed against her palm.

It was funny. Beckett had told her that animals usually had a natural aversion to vampires and that the Animalism discipline was what made it possible to reach out to them and bypass that aversion, but Evie had never really been aware of herself doing that. Regardless of her nature, animals didn’t seem too bothered by her presence. Some even seemed to like her to a degree. When she told him so, he then explained that some Gangrel were more in tune with creatures than other Kindred, so it was possible that her particular bloodline allowed her to overcome an animal’s natural aversion without having to consciously exert her will over them.

Whatever the case, she was glad she didn’t have to force animals to like her. She’d always enjoyed their company when she was alive, so to lose that would have made this whole being dead thing a hundred times worse. And that was on top of everything she was dealing with.

She sat there with her hand in the water, lost in thought.

She knew Beckett was only trying to help, and that he knew far better about navigating Kindred society than she did. She knew that he wouldn’t have suggested this course of action if he thought there was a better one, but that didn’t make her feel any better about it.

And it certainly didn’t make her feel any less upset with him.

“With your temper, it’s a wonder no one’s mistaken you for a Brujah yet.”

She was determined not to look at Beckett as he approached and instead just focused on the fish as they bumped up against her hand. She felt fishy-lips slapping against her palm and over her fingers in search of food.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that her pointed effort to ignore him earned her a gentle cuff on the ear as he sat down on the wall in front of her.

“Do you want to tell me if there’s something specific about the plan that upsets you? Or is it just the whole thing?”

She said nothing. Instead it felt like something hot was welling up inside her chest, forcing her to tense up and turn her head away so she was definitely not looking at Beckett. She had to forcibly control her breathing - an instinctual reaction - to try and force down the need to cry and her jaw clenched, trying to bite down the swelling feeling in her chest.

And without realising it, she braced herself for him finally losing his temper. She unconsciously prepared for him lashing out and shouting at her for being such a spoilt brat and not affording him the proper respect after all he had done for her. For gruff hands grabbing her upper arms, dragging her around and forcing her to look him in the eye as he shouted at her and demanded she ‘bare her throat in submission,’ so to speak.

But he didn’t do any of those things. Instead a hand settled on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

“If I thought there was a better way to do this, I would have done it. But we need to know who’s targeting you and if there’s a way to stop it,” he said gently. “And I can’t help you to prepare for this if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Her chest tightened further and she shook her head, biting on her lower lip to keep it from trembling. 

After several long minutes of silence, she turned to Beckett. 

He didn’t seem angry. He was just waiting patiently for her to speak and his hand remained gently on her shoulder, not gripping too tightly so that she could pull away if she really wanted to.

She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out and so she just shook her head. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. It felt so pathetic, admitting she was scared that she would have to face the LA Kindred again, least of all the likes of Therese, Strauss, and Nines.

Nines had saved her life _twice_ , damn it, she shouldn’t have to fear him at all, and yet-!

Beckett just tugged her closer and she leant into him, wrapping her arms around his middle as he folded his around her shoulders. The absolute lack of a heartbeat in his chest was still perturbing but she was getting used to it. With one hand he rubbed a circle into the small of her back which was more comforting than she was willing to admit, though she doubted she needed to, as she became practically boneless in Beckett’s arms, melting into him as the surge of emotion finally drew a shuddering breath from her. 

She fought the tears - she was _not_ going to cry again - but it was hard and she only just barely succeeded, but she managed. Or she did until the other hand curled into her hair, massaging her scalp, something no one had done in years. Not even Sam or Heather. And that was what broke her.

If there was one thing she still struggled to wrap her head around it was that Beckett, perhaps the snarkiest man and vampire she had ever met, was not only tolerant of her emotional outbursts, but even did his best to help her through them without being overbearing.

Most Kindred rolled their eyes or ordered her to stop her ‘ridiculousness’ immediately, and those who didn’t usually had no idea how to handle an emotional teenager and left her to sort herself out. 

Beckett let her lean into him, and he would hold her. He didn’t speak during these moments. There wasn’t really anything he could say. He just helped her to ride it out and made sure she was still in one piece when she came out the other side.

And when she finally pulled back and wiped her eyes, he just reached over into the pond, plucked out a single Egyptian lotus, and fixed the stem into her hair, securing it safely above her ear.

“Do you remember what I told you about these flowers?”

She thought back but shook her head. Too much had happened for her to really recall.

“The Ancient Egyptians believed they provided strength and power,” he explained. “You already have both in significant measure, but a little extra wouldn’t hurt.”

In spite of herself, Evie smiled and hugged Beckett again. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He chuckled and returned the gesture.

“You’re welcome, Young One.”


	7. The Hearing

Velvet didn’t traditionally do much travelling. Ordinarily she was too preoccupied with the club and keeping an eye open for any trouble on her end of town to get away from Hollywood much, much less the country. But Isaac had been very insistent that he could trust no one else, especially not now that Ash had disappeared.

For a moment her concern overtook her. Oh she did hope he was okay, wherever he had ended up. If anything had happened to him-

She shook the thought from her mind. Right now she had to focus up and fulfill the task that Isaac had given her. It was, he insisted, very important. And once she had learned the precise nature of her mission, she couldn’t help but agree. She could let her worry for Ash occupy her mind later.

Her typical work outfit had been dispensed of in favour of a long red summer dress with a long flowing skirt and a plunging neckline, and red heels. She wore her dark red hair down with gentle curls framing her face, and on top of that she wore a wide-brimmed sun hat. Not exactly necessary considering the time of night, but it completed the look and that was more her concern than the functionality.

She gathered up her skirt before making her way down the gangway plank onto the dock and glanced around.

Waiting at the edge of the road was a sleek black car with an Arab man - no, vampire - leaning against it. He straightened up as she approached, her suitcase rolling behind her. She offered him a smile, though he didn’t return it.

“You are Baron Isaac’s representative?” he asked smartly.

“I am. And you must be one of the Prince’s men. Pleasure to meet you.”

He nodded, then promptly opened the car door for her before taking her suitcase and stowing it in the trunk. Velvet gathered her skirt once more as she climbed in, ensuring it didn’t get trapped in the door, and the other vampire closed it behind her before he climbed into the driver’s seat.

They pulled away and began the drive into the city.

“I imagine you’ve been informed of tonight’s proceedings?” asked the driver.

“Of course. I’m just not sure I understand why the Prince thinks it’s necessary to give that poor girl more trouble to worry about,” she replied, cocking her head a little to one side. “From what I hear, the Blood Hunt was called off and the Camarilla decided not to press the issue.”

“All will be explained when we arrive, Miss Velour.”

Velvet pursed her lips and watched him for a moment, decided it wasn’t worth pressing for answers she would get regardless, and then turned to the window to watch the city go by.

Truth be told, no one she had spoken to seemed to understand why Mukhtar Bey had called for this hearing. Not even Claudia, well clued in as she was, could really make a guess as to why the Prince of Cairo was even concerning himself over events in a city half the world away that had little to nothing to do with him. The Camarilla certainly didn’t think much of it, though Hardestadt hadn’t stepped in to overrule.

‘Mukhtar does as Mukhtar will,’ she thought to herself. ‘Not even the Inner Circle will try to convince him to do otherwise. Not if they can afford to look the other way.’

The drive went by in silence and Velvet marvelled at the sights that they passed by. The city’s architecture, its lights, the colours and decor, they were all beautiful and dazzling. She couldn’t help but beam like a child seeing the first snowfall of the year, and it ought not to have been so surprising that she was already entertaining ideas of staying in Cairo a few nights longer than planned so she could enjoy the city and pick out a few pieces to add to her room.

Maybe she could even gather some new inspiration for her dances at the club. That could prove to be very exciting.

By the time they reached the Manial Palace, Velvet wished she didn’t have a meeting to attend so she could spend her time taking joy in the city. 

‘Maybe I need to travel more after all,’ she thought to herself as her driver opened the door for her. She gave him a grateful curtsy as a ghoul took her suitcase for her - she thanked them too, obviously - and allowed the driver to lead her through the palace gardens.

They arrived at a sort of outdoor throne room seated beneath a veranda. Several Kindred she recognised from LA were milling around - such as Claudia Dell and Peter Grouch - and ghouls were arranging chairs undoubtedly brought from the residential building. Five were arranged on either side of the throne, and in the centre of the room were two more, which puzzled Velvet a little - one must have been for Evie, but she couldn’t hazard a guess who the other was for - but she didn’t get a chance to really question it. 

In the throne sat Mukhtar Bey with one leg folded over the other and his hands folded in his lap, as he scanned the crowd. When he caught sight of Velvet he beckoned her over.

“Welcome, Miss Velour, and thank you for attending on such short notice,” he greeted as she approached. “I am aware that this meeting has caused some disturbance.”

Velvet offered a curtsy.

“Indeed it has, sir. I’m just glad I can assist in anyway I can. Isaac and Nines both send their regards, and their regrets for being unable to attend tonight, but circumstances have left them unable to leave Los Angeles for the time being.”

“I am aware that the timing is inconvenient. But if I indeed have a Prince Killer in my city, I’d see the matter settled so that I know I will not have to watch my back… One way or another.”

Velvet’s smile strained at that and she didn’t realise that her eyes flashed at the suggestion. Mukhtar cocked his head ever so slightly, however.

“Well I’m happy to help put your mind at ease, Prince Mukhtar,” she said lightly. “Evie has always been a valued-”

He held up a hand and she fell silent.

“Please Miss Velour, save it for the hearing. That is where your words will matter most.”

She nodded.

“Of course, sir. I apologise if I caused any offence. Do we know when we will be starting?”

“Soon. Beckett has informed me that he and the Fledgling are on their way and will be arriving soon.”

Velvet blinked. 

“Beckett? You mean the historian?” 

It was the first she’d heard of his involvement. Beckett was famous for being apolitical, never lending his direct support to any individual sect or showing favour for one over the other. She didn’t even know that Evie knew him. But then he had been in LA, and they’d both been caught up in that sarcophagus nonsense. Of course they must have known each other. But that didn’t explain why he was here now, and it certainly wasn’t grounds for him to insert himself into this... was it?

Mukhtar nodded.

“Yes. He is Miss Byrne’s adoptive sire and will be a part of the hearing. Does this displease you somehow?”

“Oh not at all,” she said, shaking her head. “I just- I’ve never heard of Beckett siring or taking on a childe. I never would have thought him the type.”

Mukhtar snorted, and nodded knowingly.

“Neither would I. That man’s mind works in strange ways. But I do understand that he is very protective of Miss Byrne. Enough to demand this meeting in place of a simple execution.”

Relief wasn’t a rare feeling for Velvet in recent nights. Between the mess with David and his Kindred Collaborator, and the Hunters prowling Hollywood’s clubs in search of prey, turning the hunters into the hunted. She’d felt it arrive like a waterfall, crashing over her body and racing through her, so intense and so thorough that nothing else existed but that overwhelming sense of relief that the blood on her hands had been minimised, and that none of it had been innocent. This relief was more gentle and its warmth seeped through her as if spreading from a gentle flame.

If Evie had someone like Beckett to speak on her behalf, she might just be alright. So long as Velvet did her job right too.

“I’m so glad to hear that,” she said sweetly. “The poor thing’s been through enough.”

“So I’ve been told. Now.” He glanced over Velvet’s shoulder and then turned his attention to the space as a whole. “If everyone could please take their seats. We will be getting underway very soon.”

Velvet was directed into the seat on Mukhtar’s right with a Nosferatu she didn’t recognise to her right, and then beside him was a Tremere man she knew as Peter Grouch, one of Maximillian’s apprentices. Emma and Claudia both took seats to Mukhtar’s right, and the ghouls quickly vanished into the gardens out of sight.

And then they waited.

[]

Nervous didn’t quite describe Evie’s disposition as they made their way through Cairo and the palace gardens. Her fangs were visible as she worried at her lower lip so bad it was a miracle she hadn’t drawn blood yet, and her eyes were darting at every corner. On one city block a car backfired, and it spooked her badly enough that she all but jumped out of her skin and clung to Beckett’s arm like a frightened child.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that that was exactly what she was.

Halfway through the gardens he had to stop and place a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to stop as well. She was almost trembling.

“Just remember that this isn’t about _actually_ punishing you,” he said.

“And what if everyone who showed up _wants_ me to be punished?” she snapped. “What then?”

“I highly doubt that will be the case.”

“But what if it _is_?”

He took her other shoulder and forced her to look at him. A drop of blood rolled from her lower lip as one of her fangs finally punctured it. He gave his thumb a lick and dragged it over the wound, sealing it shut again.

“You show up bleeding, and it’ll leave a bad impression,” he teased. When she just glowered back, he continued, “listen, most of the Kindred who sent representatives have no reason to speak against you. The Prince repealed the Blood Hunt, so she obviously doesn’t hold anything against you. And the Anarchs-”

“Might hate me for not joining them,” she agonised. “I flipped off Nines when I left! And-”

“That’s not reason enough for them to want the Camarilla to punish you. Your actions still gave them an opening-”

“Just like they planned,” she spat venomously.

“-which means they have nothing to hold against you. In fact, I seem to recall you helped them to deal with a Plaguebearer, if rumour is to be believed.”

She shrugged and looked away.

“The only person who might have anything bad to say is the Tremere Primogen, considering that the Camarilla’s position was crippled by Lacroix’s death. That’s one person, and that won’t be enough to rouse any suspicion when Mukhtar pardons you,” he said reassuringly. “You have nothing to worry about. Remember, the point of this is to figure out if any of the LA Kindred might be responsible for the Assamites targeting you. Not to decide if you need punishing. And I’ll be there the whole time, okay?”

Evie nodded stiffly, and Beckett clapped her shoulder.

“Good. Now come on. They’ll be waiting for us.”

As they turned to carry on, Evie trailed a little behind. When she spoke it was so quiet that even Beckett’s acute sense of hearing barely picked it up, but he heard it.

“Thanks…”

He grinned at her over his shoulder.

“You can thank me if this works.”

They walked for a few more minutes and as before the greenery seemed to thicken, muffling any ambient noise until they reached the facsimile throne.

Mukhtar occupied his throne, as always, and five Kindred sat either side of him. Three to his right, Beckett’s left, and two to his left, Beckett’s right.

Beckett didn’t recognise any of them, but Evie certainly seemed to recognise two in particular as her eyes flew from a Nosferatu man in a black t-shirt and jeans with his arms folded over his chest, and a Toreador woman in a red summer dress. She blinked at the sight of the pair, and the Toreador in particular gave her a little wave. The Nosferatu jerked his head.

Evie waved back, albeit a little hesitantly.

The other three were all of different varieties too. The man on the far left was dressed in a heavy fur-coat which was completely at odds with Egypt’s climate, and the left side of his face was decorated with piercings. He wore his black hair cropped short and he looked like he wanted to be literally anywhere else right now.

The women on the right were also dressed in dramatically different ways. The one seated beside Mukhtar wore a pressed pin-stripe suit and her platinum blonde hair in a beehive style. The other wouldn’t have looked out of place at a rock concert, her black hair worn in an undercut and piercings riddling her face and ears; she wore slashed jeans and knee-high combat boots over fishnets, and she wore a ragged crop top that left little to the imagination.

Mukhtar, on the other hand, was dressed much the same way as he had been during their first meeting in a black suit and open white shirt and hair slicked back out of his face.

“Welcome Kindred. It has been some time since you last presented yourselves to me,” he began, eyes brushing over Evie in particular. “If I had known I was welcoming a Prince Killer into my city, I might have reconsidered extending my blessing to operate within my domain, Beckett.”

He felt Evie tensing beside him and opening her mouth to protest, but he gave her a light nudge in the ribs and she immediately closed her mouth. Mukhtar raised a brow, but didn’t comment. Nor did the Kindred sitting either side of him, though the two women on the right exchanged a sidelong glance.

“That’s why I requested this meeting, Prince Mukhtar. So that we might clear the air and settle this matter once and for all.”

“Yes, as you explained when you all but demanded this meeting when your childe’s identity became known to me,” he drawled. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. As you can see, the Camarilla and Anarch leaders have each sent representatives to speak on their behalf.

“Here we have Peter Grouch, childe and representative of Maximillian Strauss, Primogen of Clan Tremere and primary advisor to Prince Voerman.”

The pierced man in the fur-coat jerked his head.

“On behalf of the Nosferatu Primogen, Gary Golden, is his childe known as Barabus.”

The Nosferatu didn’t react. He just slumped in his seat, looking like he’d rather be literally anywhere else.

“Representing Barons Isaac Abrams is Velvet Velour.”

The Toreador woman beamed at Evie and inclined her head towards Beckett, flashing him a dazzling smile.

“And to my left we have Emma Ellwood, childe to Prince Therese Voerman, and Claudia Dell, childe to Jeanette Voerman who was rather insistent that her opinion be expressed in tonight’s proceedings.”

While Manse barely inclined her head, Dell lifted a hand in a wave and threw a dirty grin their way.

Mukhtar didn’t sound particularly pleased about that last one, but Jeanette Voerman - while not a Baron - was a notable figure within the Anarch Movement, and was the sister and childe of the Prince. It probably would have caused more problems to refuse her requests.

“Now, if you’ll both take your seats.” 

Mukhtar waved a hand to the two chairs sat in the centre of the room, and they did as they were told. Evie’s hands were curled in her lap and her whole body was rigid. Beckett would be more concerned if she was wholly relaxed. After all, they needed the LA Kindred to believe that her life really was in the balance.

“I believe we’ll begin with each Representative giving voice to the opinions of their masters,” he began. “Then Miss Byrne will provide her account of the events that followed her Embrace of the twentieth of October, 2004. The representatives may ask questions, and then I will render my judgement.”

Undoubtedly he was aware of the recorder currently sitting in Beckett’s pocket, listening to every word that came out of his mouth. It was something of an open secret that he recorded almost every important conversation he had.

“Mr Grouch, if you would start us off?”

Grouch heaved a sigh and sat up a little straighter in his seat as his fixed his eyes on Evie.

“First of all, the Regent wishes for me to make the depths of his disappointment in this Fledgling clear,” he began, his tone just above a growl. “He considers her actions reprehensible, and finds it regretful that she did not trust him and the Camarilla to provide the appropriate protection following the calling of an illegitimate Blood Hunt. However…”

He sighed and shook his head.

“He is understanding that Miss Byrne was placed in a difficult position and was under a considerable amount of pressure, and is willing to forgive her for her mistakes… Provided she does not make them again.”

Beckett heard a sharp intake of breath beside him and out of the corner of his eye could see the surprise on Evie’s face as her shoulders dropped a little. Not quite relaxed, but less tense than before. While Grouch obviously disagreed with his master’s actions, it didn’t matter. Strauss was forgiving her, and that was what would matter to the Prince.

And ruled Strauss out as a potential suspect. Of all the Kindred being represented tonight, he had the most reason to call for Evie’s Final Death. The fact he wasn’t was significant.

Mukhtar nodded and then turned his attention to Barabus, who seemed to tense as everyone else’s eyes followed.

“I’ll say this,” he growled. “I think this whole thing is pointless, and so does the Boss. This kid saved my ass in Chinatown and cleaned up one hell of a Masquerade Breach, which potentially saved all our asses. Gary vouches for her, and so do I.”

Mukhtar blinked.

“If you don’t mind my asking, Mr Barabas, what is the Masquerade Breach you are referring to?”

Barabus growled.

“A bunch of humans were in the employ of the Kuei-Jin. They were running tests of all sorts, trying to find the best way to kill Kindred. The Kid killed the man in charge, broke me out, and helped me wipe out all the data they had on us.”

“I see. Quite a serious breach indeed.”

Next was Velvet who smiled gently at Evie.

“First I would like to say how glad I am to see you in one piece, Evie. You had a lot of people back home worried when you disappeared,” she said.

Evie shifted uncomfortably in her seat which couldn’t have gone unnoticed, though Velvet didn’t seem to mind.

“Second, Isaac, Nines, and the rest of the Anarchs have asked me to extend to you their best wishes. They hope you are well, and that this mess gets straightened out as quickly as possible. Nines in particular wishes me to tell you that ‘you did good’ and he hopes that, should you choose to return to LA in the future, you will stop by the Last Round for old times’ sake.

“Evie has done more for LA’s Kindred Community in the short time she was a part of it than most do in many lifetimes. She killed vampire hunters without attracting undue attention, destroyed a gargoyle that had taken residence in Hollywood’s Chinese Theatre-”

Was it just Beckett, or did Grouch look vaguely uncomfortable for a split second there?

“-successfully ousted a Tzimisce responsible for the disappearance of the Nosferatu, and put an end to the threat of the Plaguebearer Cult that threatened the Masquerade. She showed tact and discretion when dealing with many of the troubles that we faced, and had the courage to face all kinds of terrible dangers while standing alone. And for these reasons, Isaac believes that she should be cleared of all charges.”

“Thank you, Miss Velour,” Mukhtar said, bowing his head once again. “Miss Ellwood, if you please?”

The woman in the pin-stripe suit turned her gaze to Evie and the temperature in the garden seemed to drop suddenly. Ellwood’s gaze was cold and piercing, and while her face looked as if it ought to be expressionless, there was something else lingering just below the surface.

Beckett felt his Beast growling and while he gently urged it to calm, he made a note of the feeling. This Kindred was to be watched.

“To begin, Prince Voerman wishes it to be made very clear that she views these proceedings as an utter waste of valuable time,” she said coldly. “She believed the matter resolved upon the repeal of the Blood Hunt, and the Camarilla’s subsequent decision to let the matter lay. However.”

There was something very chilling about that ‘however’.

“She does wish to know if she was somehow mistaken in allowing this Fledgling to live. She has proven very eager to please, after all, and very easy to manipulate. The fact that someone as weak-willed as Sebastian Lacroix could dominate her so easily is evidence enough. Is there, perhaps, reason to believe Prince Voerman’s goodwill has been squandered and, has in fact, necessitated this meeting?”

“No, I-!”

“Quiet, Miss Byrne,” Mukhtar said sharply. “Thank you for your input, Miss Ellwood. It is something to consider. Miss Dell?”

The final Kindred grinned at Evie in a way that was nigh on flirtatious and it made the Beast in Beckett’s chest growl protectively. Again, he pushed it down.

“Well Duckling. Where do we begin? Jeanette tells me that you’ve always done such wonderful work, and that the best kind of fun seems to follow you. Slashing paintings seems so… trivial, compared to blowing up a Prince,” she said wryly, and yes her tone was definitely very flirty which struck Beckett as very inappropriate. 

Like sire like childe, or so the saying went.

“But I didn’t-”

“And your friend, what was her name? Sarah? Sally? Something with an S. Anyway, Jeanette heard about it from Bertram. A quick knife in a friend’s back, all to protect the Masquerade. Delicious.”

“I was only-”

“In fact, I hear you’re good with knives. I’d love it if you could give me some pointers some time. Your work on those paintings was _divine_. I just hope that you never have to-”

“Miss Dell!” Mukhtar snapped, bringing his fist down on the arm of his throne. “Will you stop dithering and get to the point! Does Jeanette Voerman speak in favour of or against the Fledgling before you?”

“Hm? Oh, right. Yes, Jeanette vouches for Duckling here. It’d be a shame for her to end up with her head being chopped off before she got around to some _real_ fun.”

‘Malkavian. She has to be Malkavian,’ Beckett thought to himself, trying to ignore the mounting headache building at his temples. ‘Why else would someone advocating Evie’s unlife talk about such-?’

He froze, and a quick glance at Mukhtar - who caught his eye meaningfully - indicated the same thought had struck him. 

There wasn’t time to process it however, as Mukhtar continued speaking.

“Now that we have that out of the way… Miss Byrne.”

Beckett realised that Evie had gone rigid in her seat and all the colour had drained from her face. She was gripping the sides of her chair so tightly that her knuckles had gone chalk white. He placed a hand on her shoulder, not really caring what the representatives thought.

She flinched before turning to him with a pleading look on her face. He squeezed gently and gave an encouraging nod. Slowly, she nodded back and turned to face Mukhtar.

“Miss Byrne. Would you please give us your account on the events of LA?”

“The whole story, or just a summary of the important bits?” she asked, her voice audibly stiff.

“The whole story, if you would.”

She nodded stiffly, then swallowed hard.

“Well. It all started when Lacroix sent me to destroy a Sabbat warehouse in Santa Monica…”

[]

The next hour proved to be brutal on Evie, and Beckett was finding it difficult to keep his temper and his Beast in check as Ellwood once again opened her mouth to ask yet another question.

“So what you’re saying, Miss Byrne, is that Ming Xiao warned you that once you became expendable to Prince Lacroix he would betray you… and yet you confronted him about this supposed alliance anyway?”

“Yes,” Evie said through gritted teeth, obviously doing her best to maintain her composure even as it slipped.

“But why?” she asked incredulously. “That strikes me as both very careless and-”

“I don’t see what this has to do with my childe’s innocence, Ellwood,” Beckett growled. “Yes she chose to confront Lacroix about his alliance with the Cathayans. No it was not the most well thought out move. Can we please move on?”

“I agree. Miss Ellwood, if you cannot keep your questions relevant to the purpose of tonight’s hearing, I will be forced to have you removed from it,” Mukhtar said curtly, clearly as fed up as Beckett was.

Ellwood looked immeasurably displeased, but pursed her lips and remained silent.

She was definitely up to something, Beckett decided as Evie resumed her story. He didn’t know Therese personally, so it was hard to say whether or not Ellwood was following orders, but she was clearly needling Evie to try and make her say something she couldn’t take back. And she wasn’t the only one.

Claudia Dell had been almost as bad, prodding and poking at the gorier, more unpleasant points in the story, parts that were clearly quite distressing, and trying to elicit some kind of response. 

It was like the pair were _trying_ to wear Evie down, and despite Beckett’s best attempts to curb them, it was working. She looked absolutely exhausted and like she was fighting back the urge to cry. He didn’t really blame her. The whole time she’d been talking it was obvious how tough LA had been on her from the schemes and the lies, to the political machinations and outright manipulations of the elder Kindred she encountered. 

And she’d clearly not been given any time at all to process any of it. Was it any wonder that even the slightest prodding of the wounds brought her to tears? 

“So after Mr Rodriguez was carried away, you were then attacked by another werewolf, correct?”

Evie nodded. There were a few surprised looks between the representatives.

“And how, might I ask, did you escape?” Grouch asked, eying her suspiciously.

“Um… Well, I…” 

She suddenly found her fingernails to be apparently fascinating as she stared hard at her lap rather than at the Tremere. When she mumbled her reply, Beckett was certain he must have misheard her. There was no way she had said _that_.

“Speak up Fledgling. And look at me when I’m talking to you,” Grouch snapped. “How did you escape?”

“...I killed it.”

A hush fell over the garden, and for a split second the fear that the Assamites had returned briefly struck Beckett. But then another second passed and he realised that no, he really had heard that and processing the idea of that superseded all other brain functions, including audio processing.

Evie was staring at her lap again as Mukhtar, Grouch, and the rest of the representatives all stared at her with open mouths. It was a long time before any of them mustered the will to speak.

“You had better start being honest, Fledgling,” Grouch snarled as he leant forward, almost leaving his seat but not quite.

“I wasn’t _trying_ to kill it, it was- well it wasn’t an accident, but I didn’t know what I was _doing_!” Evie protested.

“A gargoyle is one thing, but a _werewolf_?! No Fledgling is being honest if they claim something like that!” Grouch spat. “Hell, the Regent had given you a ward to protect you from the gargoyle! You had no such protection from one of those creatures!”

“Well, yes, I-”

“Why would your Regent give this Fledgling a ward against gargoyles, Peter?” Velvet asked, cocking her head slightly to one side.

“Because I-”

“Because she approached the Regent with questions about gargoyles, seemingly _after_ Baron Isaac tasked her with killing the one in his precious Chinese Theatre,” Grouch retorted hotly. “There is nothing odd about my sire showing more care for this Fledgling’s safety than any Anarch would.”

“I don’t think VV is asking _why_ your sire gave Duckling a ward, Petey,” said Dell, looking positively delighted with the turn of events. “I think she’s getting at the fact that he just happened to have one handy.”

“There is nothing out of the ordinary about it,” he snarled. “The Tremere have always used gargoyles, it makes sense we would utilise protections in the event one went rogue-”

“Like the one in the Chinese Theatre?”

Grouch’s face drained of colour - a sign of a Kindred sending the blood in it to other parts of the body - and twisted into a beastial snarl. He rose from his seat, eyes fixed on Dell and he made as if to lunge at her while she only cocked a brow mockingly. She didn’t even flinch or show the slightest sign of worry even as he raised his wrist to his mouth, clearly about to bite down and unleash his blood magic on her.

“ENOUGH!” Mukhtar roared, shooting to his feet.

All at once his presence washed over the garden with the force of a tidal wave, bearing down on every Kindred and Ghoul within its reach. Even Beckett felt an icy fear grasp him. He had to fight the overwhelming urge to bolt, and he wasn’t the only one whose Beast was urging him to flee.

Beside him, Evie had shrunk back into her seat with her eyes as wide as saucers, and Grouch’s pallor went from one of fury to one of pure terror. Velvet and Ellwood both shrunk away from him, and even Barabas and Dell seemed shaken.

Then it receded, and the thunderous rage in Mukhtar’s face faded somewhat as he sunk back into his seat. Then, in a very even voice, he said to Evie, “so you killed the werewolf and escaped the park. What happened next?”

Evie was still trembling as she pushed herself back up in her seat. Beckett didn’t doubt that Lacroix could never have mustered such a terrifying presence. It was one cultivated by experience, age, and the knowledge of his complete and utter control over the room.

Mukhtar might not be a Ventrue, but his mastery of the Dominate surpassed many and rivalled the rest.

“W-well… I got to the cable car,” she continued in a very small voice. “And Jack was waiting for me with his car…”

Even as the story continued, Mukhtar’s effect on the space lingered. Which was good, as far as Beckett was concerned, as it meant that Ellwood and Dell couldn’t continue their needling without the fear of drawing the Prince’s wrath. Grouch was still very pale and Velvet certainly seemed on edge. If the fear still clung to Barabas he was doing a very good job of not letting it show.

By the time Evie was done, Mukhtar was the only one posing any questions.

“So after stabbing Prince Lacroix, you then gave him the very thing you sought to keep from him? Why?”

Evie shrugged.

“I guess… I just wanted all my ties to that thing gone. And…” She hesitated. “...I’d been told not to open it. I guess I thought that if something bad happened when it opened, better him than me.”

“Who told you not to open it?”

“A thinblood called Rosa. She had… visions,” Evie explained warily. “She… she was right about a lot of things, and I guess I trusted that she was right about that too.”

“A thinblood with visions?” Manse scoffed, speaking up for the first time in not long enough. “You realise that she was probably mad, yes?”

“If her sire was Malkavian, then yes. Quite mad,” Beckett concurred. “That doesn’t make her _wrong_ however. Especially considering that she was right to tell Evie not to open it. I offered the same advice.”

Eyes turned to him, including Mukhtar’s. The Prince raised a brow.

“Is that so, Beckett? A Malkavian thinblood receiving visions is one way of predicting the danger. How did _you_ know?”

“Instinct,” Beckett said idly, shrugging. “I’m sure all of you were aware of the unusual sensation in the air during the events of LA, the strange feeling of dread no one could put their finger on. My instincts told me the sarcophagus would prove dangerous if opened. And I’ve learned to trust my instincts.”

Some of the representatives, such as Ellwood and Grouch, seemed unconvinced, but Mukhtar nodded his head.

“Very well. I will take your word for it. I do have one more question for you, Miss Byrne.”

She lifted her head, daring to meet his gaze.

“I’m still not sure I understand why you did not turn to a sect for protection,” he explained. “Both the Camarilla and the Anarchs have had many good things to say about you, and their leaders have all offered you their support. Yet you chose to stand alone. Can you explain your decision?”

There was another very long pause, during which Evie lowered her gaze back into her lap where her hands were curled into fists.

“Because I couldn’t trust them.” She took a deep breath. “From the moment I was Embraced, everyone I met wanted _something_. They wanted to use me as their pawn or their weapon…”

Beckett definitely saw guilt on Velvet’s face this time, a flash of momentary hurt and a hand curling over her heart as she bowed her head in shame.

“That thinblood, Rosa, told me I could only trust two people,” she continued. “One of them was the Lone Wolf, and... she was right.”

She turned her head so she was looking at Beckett as she spoke.

“Beckett was the only person who never wanted anything from me. He never treated me like some stupid little kid or a thing to be used. He just… treated me like a person.” 

She sniffed and swiped at her eyes and Beckett felt his chest tighten a little. 

“And let me guess. He recommended going Autarkis,” Barabas said, raising a brow at Beckett.

Evie lifted her head to look at the Nosferatu and grinned in spite of herself.

“Well, he recommended seeing the sarcophagus nonsense through first. But that was before the werewolf and the Blood Hunt,” she explained wryly, then shrugged. “I won’t lie and say I really thought it through.”

Beckett rolled his eyes but offered her a wry smile nonetheless. Why was he not surprised that she’d latched onto his advice and based a very important decision on that and her emotions?

What did surprise him were these thinblood prophecies she kept mentioning, and the fact she’d based so many choices around what this Rosa had told her. Not opening the sarcophagus, trusting him…

He wondered briefly if that was the only reason she’d trusted him, but then reminded himself that she had elaborated further that it was his behaviour towards her that had affirmed her decision to do so. Funny that. Most people found his behaviour so annoying that they threatened to kill him. And many then attempted to follow up on it.

And then he wondered what else Rosa had told her. Maybe he’d have her write up these prophecies, if only to keep a record of them. Malkavians were heralded as oracles and seers, but for a thinblood to have enough connection to whatever gave them that insight was unheard of.

“Thank you, Miss Byrne, for your account. You have given me much to think about. As have each of our representatives. This evening has certainly proved enlightening.”

Beckett was yanked out of his reverie by Mukhtar who sat back in his seat, fingertips pressed together in front of his face. Everyone watched him closely and for several minutes there was silence, save for the gentle evening breeze.

“I have made my decision. Evie Byrne, childe of Beckett, I declare you not guilty. So long as you remain in my city, you and your sire are to be under my protection, and you are welcome to operate in my domain as you see fit… Within reason, of course.”

His eyes twinkled and for the first time he actually _smiled_ at Evie, who seemed to deflate into her seat.

It was no surprise. The plan had always been for Mukhtar to pardon her, but the intensity of which Manse and Dell had badgered her, and the brawl that had nearly broken out between the latter and Grouch - if it could be called that - made it easy to forget that nothing had _really_ been on the line for her.

Still, Mukhtar was right. Tonight had been enlightening.

After all, they now had a potential lead.

[]

Beckett had his ghoul come to collect himself and Evie after the hearing was over, as the bloody tears that welled in her eyes and refused to stop were not fit to be seen in public. By Kindred or Kine.

Velvet felt a pang of guilt for the umpteenth time that night as she was sure she was at least partially responsible for some of those tears. Again she was reminded that she was as guilty as the rest of the LA Kindred for using Evie to some degree. She had sent the poor thing after Chastity after all, even though a child had no business hunting down a hunter. It had been too much to ask, as she had feared it would be… and she let her go anyway.

She still felt unclean just thinking about it.

She had wanted to speak with Evie once the hearing was over, to have a more personal conversation where she could properly apologise for what she had done in LA. For Chastity, and the mess with David, but Evie had all but buried herself into Beckett’s side, and the older Kindred politely requested she be left alone before they departed.

Velvet acquiesced and suggested maybe they could meet another night, as she really was relieved to see Evie whole and well. He answered vaguely before taking her away, and Velvet knew it was likely the last time she would be seeing Evie in Cairo.

Disappointing, but not wholly unexpected. Evie probably didn’t want those old memories being dredged up again. Especially after Emma, Claudia, and Peter’s displays throughout the evening.

Really, it had been so uncalled for. Accusing Evie of lying and needling every little thing she said. Why if Velvet didn’t know any better, she’d say that Emma and Claudia had been trying to get a rise out of Evie!

She stopped dead and a ghoul gardener nearly spilled their watering can over her dress. Was she of a mind, she would have apologised before they even had a chance and insist they had done no real harm. Instead she stood stock still as they stumbled past her and nervously continued on, clearly terrified.

She turned the idea over in her mind, letting it flourish in her mind. Then she abruptly turned on her heel and swept back through the garden to the facsimile throne.

She had to speak with Mukhtar before she even considered reporting to Isaac. She had to be sure she wasn’t overthinking this. Because if she wasn’t… 

Evie was still very much in danger.


	8. Trust and Fangs

Evie frowned and paused her scribbling - which had mostly devolved into doodling at this point - and peered closer at the page. Yes, she had indeed just read the same page three times over and hadn’t taken in a word, let alone added any coherent notes on the subject to her doodle-filled notebook. 

She pulled the book closer towards her and tried to focus as she read the page this time.

She was studying another of Beckett’s journals, this one dating back about a century ago. It was proving hard going because back in those nights, he apparently had a habit of getting drugged and drawn into strange ramblings that she struggled to parse. It was even harder to imagine that Beckett really had been the speaker in these passages.

Again she reached the bottom of the page and couldn’t recall a word of what she had just read. 

She slumped back in her chair, folded her arms over her face, and groaned.

“Quiet,” Beckett chided from the nearby shelves. “We’re in a library, remember?”

She stuck up a middle finger, well aware of the fact that he couldn’t see her from where he was, and looked vaguely back at the book. 

It was the night following the hearing and Mukhtar had declared her cleared of all charges. Earlier that evening, Beckett had gone back to the Manial Palace to discuss the matter with the Prince and exchange thoughts on how things had played out and what everything meant. He had offered to bring Evie, but she had elected to go on ahead to the library on her own and get a head start on some studying. 

He had only arrived less than ten minutes ago and rather than immediately filling her in, he got to work browsing bookshelves.

She didn’t mind. If anything she wanted to delay the inevitable. Delay knowing who it was who wanted her dead, or at least delay hearing Beckett and the Prince’s suspicions and conclusions.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t come to any on her own.

Ellwood and Dell had said that Therese and Jeanette were on her side, then proceeded to nitpick every little detail they could like they were trying to make her look so bad that Mukhtar might just execute her anyway. It made for one hell of a conflicting picture and she couldn’t help but wonder if that had been the Voermans’ intentions. They couldn’t publicly speak against her without giving away their secret, but they could still have their agents pick her apart in front of the Prince and bank on him making the call to have her head taken off.

And failing that, they could always send more Assamites once they had confirmation that she and Beckett had left Cairo.

She started doodling again, trying to push the thought from her mind. She really didn’t want to imagine that they would do that… Even if Jeanette had sent armed thugs to kill her and Therese had pointed a gun at her.

The doodle rapidly transformed into a sketch of the Voerman sisters, ironically enough. The journal lay forgotten on the table as Evie found herself trying to capture that glint in Therese’s eyes, the one that usually appeared when she had her eyes fixed on something she wanted, and the ways Jeanette’s eyes glimmered with mischief. It was funny how, despite the fact they literally shared a face, they were so distinct from one another.

She was so focused on drawing that she didn’t notice Beckett emerge from the aisle with a few tomes tucked under his arm. If she had, she’d have seen the curious quirk of his brow before he strolled around the table to peer over her shoulder.

He at least had the courtesy to wait until she had lifted her pen from the page before saying, “if you paid half this much attention to your studies, you’d breeze through that journal.”

She jumped and then glared at him, though he just smirked back. He then circled around to her other side and placed the tomes he’d collected on the table. Then he sat down and paused, as if weighing options.

Evie braced herself as she stared very pointedly at her drawing rather than at him. He wanted to talk about the hearing and his own meeting with Mukhtar. A thought he picked up on immediately, as he set a hand on her shoulder as he turned to face her, his arm resting on the table.

“The sooner we deal with this problem, the sooner we can put it behind us and move on,” he said. 

She nodded, but it didn’t stop her stomach from churning. Slowly, she looked around at him.

“So… do you think Therese and Jeanette want…?”

She trailed off, not really wanting to finish that thought. But to her surprise, Beckett shook his head.

“No, I’m quite certain they don’t,” he said.

She frowned.

“How do you know?”

Beckett smiled grimly.

“Mukhtar might be a very forthright Prince, but that doesn’t make him incapable of going behind one’s back,” he said heavily. “He took a chance and had a chat with Therese when he arranged the meeting, and-”

“He did _what_?!” 

“He told Therese the plan,” he said, tightening his grip on her shoulder ever so slightly, just to keep her from pulling away so she was better inclined to sit and listen. “I’ll explain…”

So he told her what Mukhtar had told him. About his collaboration with Therese, that she knew all along it was a sham of a hearing, and that Ellwood and Dell weren’t supposed to have asked any questions, just remind everyone of the Blood Hunt’s repeal and offer Therese and Jeanette’s support. Nothing more.

“So… wait, Therese and Jeanette _don’t_ want me dead, but it means Ellwood and Dell are just working for someone who does?” she concluded.

“Most likely.”

She had to fight the swelling anger that the knowledge of Mukhtar’s double-crossing had caused. He was trying to help, she reminded herself. That’s why he had done it. And it was a good call because Therese was trying to help too.

‘ _Or maybe that’s what they want you to think_ ,’ a nasty little voice sneered in the back of her mind.

She shook her head to dispel it and stared at Beckett in disbelief.

“But… none of the others wanted me dead. Well, except Grouch-”

“Except he won’t be willing to go against Strauss’ decision,” Beckett sighed, shaking his head. “From what I understand, Grouch is a clan first, sect second sort of Kindred, much like his sire. He’ll respect Strauss’ wishes that you be left alone, so we can safely rule him out.”

“So then who _does_ want me dead?” she exclaimed, staring at him pleadingly, as though begging him to come up with an answer.

But he stared at the floor, hesitating to answer.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “But we’re going to find out-”

“That’s what this hearing was _supposed_ to be about!” she shouted, forcing his hand off of her shoulder as she felt the Beast rising in her chest. “Are you saying that this whole thing was pointless?!”

“Not quite,” he corrected, keeping his voice firm and even, all while giving her a look over the top of his shades that told her to get a grip and to do it now. “We know someone is targeting you. That someone is using the childer of a Prince and _her_ childe to get at you. And any moment now, Mukhtar will be contacting Therese to determine what the next step is. She’ll probably want Ellwood and Dell detained and interrogated until they reveal who they’re working for.”

There was a pause as Evie took that in and - as Beckett had silently suggested - got her Beast back under control, trying to restore that feeling of relative calm. It was easier said than done as it wasn’t only anger but also prickling fear that had the Beast so riled up. A paranoia that even now, Mukhtar and Therese were conspiring to be rid of her instead of helping her.

‘Beckett trusts that they’re helping,’ she reminded herself. ‘I have to trust that he knows what he’s doing.’

The Beast growled nervously, but finally settled. Not completely relaxed, but quiet for now.

“So… it wasn’t a complete waste,” she said as evenly as she could manage after she was sure she had reigned herself in. “We just need to get a name out of them?”

He nodded.

“But until we get one, there’s no point sitting around worrying. Which is why-” he reached over and tapped the journal. “-you should get back to work.”

He then winked as he turned back to his own books.

“Don’t think this mess excuses you from earning your keep, Young One.”

“Sure, as if I could even begin to make sense of you and your drugged up ramblings,” she snorted, but a grin did spread across her face as she turned back to the table as well. “And you’re _sure_ you want this thing circulated?”

“Of course. After all, if you read it and take what’s in there on board, you might not make my mistakes,” he said wryly. “That’s the point of these journals. Recording everything I experience so that others may learn from said experiences.”

“You mean like the time where you _heavily_ imply you got fucked by Dracula himself?” she asked with feigned innocence and a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

“The value of seduction as a tool to get what you need,” he said lightly, shrugging. “However that’s a lesson you’ll have to figure out on your own if you want to. I certainly _won’t_ be teaching you _that_.”

“Or the time Jan Pieterzoon staked you naked for the sun?”

“A warning that even a Yes Man and toady can be a very dangerous enemy.”

“Well what about-”

He gave her a pointed look that read as amused, but also told her to stop right now.

“Keep it up, Young One, and you’ll be writing your own journal to teach Fledglings why you don’t pester your Elders about their lower moments,” he said warningly.

“Ugh, fine.”

They turned back to their respective books and for a few moments there was silence… Or at least there was until Evie turned back to Beckett again and said, “did Prospero really tell you and Sascha Vykos to hate fuck on a desk?”

That earned her a playful smack around the head.

[]

Therese paced the office floor, worrying her thumbnail between her teeth. Mukhtar was supposed to have called by now. His ghoul’s message had said as much, so what was taking so long?

This mess with Evie was supposed to have been cleaned up already, so it really was very annoying that _someone_ insisted it continue. She had a few guesses as to who might be the responsible party, but she couldn’t act without proof. Not when things were so precarious. Needless to say, the moment she had said proof, there would be no corner in LA where this Kindred could hide from her.

Mukhtar Bey was a very straightforward Prince, that she could respect, but that didn’t make him incapable of taking action on his own accord. Another thing she could respect.

After Beckett and Evie had left Manial Palace, Mukhtar had called Therese and informed him of the trial and its nature, not to warn her, but to work with her. As Prince of Cairo, his reach was limited to his city. Therese was far better suited to handle a traitor in LA than he was.

Therese would never admit to any particular fondness for Evie; she had been a very valuable asset during her time in Santa Monica, the Gallery incident aside, and had always been very good about keeping her and Jeanette’s secret, but admitting fondness meant admitting weakness. Jeanette might not see it the same way - she treated Evie like a younger sister - but Therese simply couldn’t allow anyone to believe she _cared_.

That being said, whoever was targeting Evie was proving elusive, and that she didn’t like. As far as Mukhtar or anyone else needed to know, Therese was doing this to ensure that this threat didn’t turn its gaze to her.

She had already received and read through Emma and Claudia’s reports regarding Evie having been cleared of charges and offered the Prince’s protection - and a near brawl between Claudia and Strauss’ representative over a gargoyle or a werewolf or some such nonsense - but right now she was waiting on Mukhtar to give his own perspective on events. 

With any luck, he would have more insight into any potential traitors than Emma and Claudia had.

“You’re going to wear a rut in the floor, Therese,” Jeanette teased.

She was sprawled out on the bed with unconscious human woman laid out beside her. A smear of blood on her lips and the two ragged puncture marks in the young woman’s neck told the tale… As did the fact that neither of the pair were dressed and the young woman’s skin was slick with sweat.

Therese knew where she would be sleeping come morning, and it was not going to be between those infernal satin sheets. What she wouldn’t give to take a match to them-!

She caught herself. No. Part of their deal was no more threats regarding the bed sheets. No more fire, or fabric scissors, or shredders.

So instead of delivering a threat as she would have in the past, she turned away from her sister and resumed her pacing, careful to keep the divider between her and the sight of the naked pair behind it.

“Getting yourself all worked up into a fit won’t do you any good,” Jeanette continued, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed with a hand ghosting over the woman’s abdomen as she moved away. “You should relax. Have a drink.”

“No thank you,” Therese replied with a small shudder.

She never drank directly from her prey. The idea made her skin crawl.

“Ugh, Therese… You need to learn to loosen up a little,” Jeanette sighed, shaking her head. Her strawberry blonde hair - loose of its pigtails for one - fluttered over her shoulders as she rose to her feet, reaching for a silk robe that lay on the floor.

She tugged it over her shoulders and trotted over to her sister.

“You have eternity to get what you want, you know. No harm in slowing down a little to smell the roses,” she giggled, draping her arm over Therese’s shoulder and resting her chin on the other. “You’re dead but you’ll give yourself wrinkles if you don’t relax.”

“I do not need to relax, Jeanette,” she said tersely. “I am perfectly fi-”

The phone rang, forcing Therese into an abrupt halt. She made to cross to the desk, to answer the phone, but Jeanette somehow reached it first.

“Helloooo,” she replied saucily, grinning at Therese. “Oh, Prince Mukhtar! How nice to hear from you! Therese is a bit busy at the moment, but I would be more than happy to-”

Therese was there in a fraction of a heartbeat and started a silent-but-fierce fight for the phone. It took a few moments before she successfully wrested the handset away from Jeanette but she managed, straightened up, and smoothed out her skirt before replying.

“My apologies for my sister, Prince Mukhtar. I was attending to a matter when you called. I take it this is about the ‘hearing’?”

Mukhtar gave the affirmative and launched into his summary of events. Namely the notable behaviour of each of the representatives and Therese’s expression soured.

“So. Emma and Claudia disobeyed orders, did they?” she said curtly. “They were to remind all in attendance of the repeal of the Blood Hunt and extend my protection to Evie, nothing more.”

“And yet they needled her to the verge of tears, no doubt with the intent of making her say something she couldn’t take back, believing that I would be convinced she was a threat to my person,” Mukhtar replied drolely. “And if it is not on your and your sister’s orders-”

“It most certainly was not,” she replied in a very dangerous tone.

“I was not seriously suggesting it. Regardless, they have clearly disobeyed orders. Why do you think that is?”

Therese pursed her lips.

“I can’t speak for Jeanette and Claudia, but Emma has always been a most obedient childe and knows that there are consequences for disobeying me, even if it is well intended,” she replied coolly. “For her to do so would either indicate a very sudden change of character-”

“Or she is no longer acting on your orders.”

“Annoyingly, that is very possible.”

Therese grit her teeth as Jeanette began patting her shoulder. She tried to wave her off, but her sister kept insisting to the point she was almost violently shaking her.

“A moment.” She placed the phone to her shoulder and hissed, “ _what_?!”

“What’s this about Emma disobeying orders?” Jeanette whispered, eyes alight with excitement.

Therese glowered at her and quickly relayed what Mukhtar had told her. The excitement in Jeanette’s eyes fettered out and she frowned.

“That doesn’t sound like Claudia. She likes to push when it’s something _you_ care about, but not if it’s over something _I_ care about,” she said, pouting.

Therese rolled her eyes and turned back to the phone.

“I just spoke with Jeanette. Apparently she doesn’t believe Claudia would disobey orders either,” she sighed. “Something is very wrong here.”

“Shall I detain these childer at the Palace for now?”

“...Yes. I can’t possibly keep an eye on them both, not with the way things are. If they’re working for someone else, I need to know. Interrogate them. Monitor their communications, do whatever is necessary to find out what they know. Any evidence will not only point to their collaborator but will give me grounds to have them executed.”

“As you wish, Prince Voerman. I will keep both Miss Ellwood and Miss Dell detained and monitored in the meantime. Now if-”

He came to an abrupt halt and asked Therese to wait. She heard the phone get set down on a desk and footsteps clicking away. There were worried voices in the distance and then silence except for the phone static.

“What’s happening?”

“ _Shh_.”

The silence lasted longer than it should have and Therese had to resist the urge to start pacing again, but after several long minutes Mukhtar picked the phone up again. There were still urgent voices and the sounds of hurried activity going on in the background. There was a brief pause and the drawing of air through teeth, as if he were about to tell her something unpleasant.

“My apologies, Prince Voerman, but it appears that detaining the childer will be impossible for the foreseeable future,” he said heavily, with a hint of reluctance. “They’ve already fled.”

[]

Velvet stepped out of the cab and waved the driver goodbye as she made her way down the street. Her red sundress had been replaced with a heavier, velvet evening gown in deep rich scarlet, and a black fur shawl drawn over her shoulders. She wore her hair up in a braided bun and she clutched a purse at her side.

Anyone might have thought she was headed for some formal event at a classy club, not to the library that was definitely supposed to be closed at this time of night.

She hurried up the steps, heels clicking loudly on the stone as she made for the entrance. Not that it really mattered because, as promised, there was no one around to see. No guards peering through windows, and no alarms went off as she eased open the front door, letting herself inside. If not for the upkeep of the place, it would be easy enough to assume it was abandoned.

It definitely wasn’t.

Beckett was waiting for her just inside the doors. His expression was a mix of anger and worry, and she was certain there was a little dread in his features too. She could make it out well enough, even if his eyes were shielded from view by those shades he always wore.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Velour,” he said with a note of urgency. “They’re really gone?”

She nodded regretfully.

“Not for a lack of us trying to stop them,” she explained. “But they were well-prepared. They trapped the room and had a boat ready to take them up the Nile. They’re gone.”

She glanced around and leaned in a little closer.

“Someone arranged for this. They knew the Princes would have them detained and had an escape route prepared for them,” she whispered conspiratorially. 

“The question is _who_?” Beckett hissed. “Who wants Evie dead this badly?”

Velvet shook her head.

“If I knew that, I would tell you. Everyone back in LA is far more concerned with the fact that a war could break out any day now, and all of them blame Sebastian. Even Maximillian thinks pursuing Evie is a waste of time, and he’s the one with the most reason to be angry with her.”

Beckett scowled and turned his head as if to check a doorway. He then chewed at his lip.

“So we might not even be dealing with an LA Kindred at all?” he asked, once he’d processed whatever ideas he had in mind.

“I fear that may be the case,” she sighed, shaking her head though it was more in exasperation than anything. “But what I can’t think of is _why_. Have the two of you been anywhere else before Cairo?”

“No, this was our first stop after LA.”

It was Velvet’s turn to worry her lower lip between her teeth.

That wasn’t really what she had hoped to hear. Mostly because it meant that their best hope of figuring out who was responsible for this mess had already escaped up river. Mukhtar had men pursuing Emma and Claudia’s boat, but they had gotten a serious head start and who knew what other tricks they could employ. It was very likely they wouldn’t be seeing them again for a considerable number of nights.

But if it wasn’t any of the LA Kindred, and Beckett really hadn’t taken Evie anywhere between here and there, then what was going on? Could someone from Evie’s mortal life have discovered her continued existence? But who would be so persistent in the destruction of a literal child?

A Kindred, she reminded herself. It was in the nature of many to care little one way or another, so long as they got what they wanted. 

“Have you considered staying in Cairo?” she then asked, giving Beckett an almost pleading look. “At least until this is over. Mukhtar may be the one person who can protect you both from the Assamites and-”

“I know,” he sighed. “But that’s never been my way. And I think moving on would be best for Evie.”

He shook his head.

“Maybe it’s because everything that happened in LA is finally getting to her, but I feel like I can’t say a word without her either bursting into tears,” he explained grimly. “I know teenagers are emotional, but you say one wrong word and it’s like pulling the pin on a grenade.”

“Well what did you expect?! That she would just be _okay_ when all was said and done?!” Velvet cried in exasperation as she threw her hands into the air, just barely keeping her voice hushed.

“She was murdered and immediately put on trial. She saw her sire get beheaded, and then was packed off to Santa Monica to destroy public property, and then the minute that was done, Sebastian put her to work searching for that sarcophagus everyone was losing their minds over!

“She didn’t get a single break to stop and take everything in when she was in LA. She was constantly being ordered this way and that by every other Kindred she met. Now she has a chance to sit and think, and it’s _too much_. Of course she’s going to cry at the drop of a hat! She didn’t get the _chance_ to do that in LA!

“She _needs_ you, Beckett! You might be the only person who can help her through this because you might be the only person she’ll let-!”

“Because she won’t trust anyone else, I know,” he cut over exhaustedly, as if he’d told himself the same thing night after night. Then he paused, and asked, “when you first met Evie, did she seem suspicious of you or anyone else that you know of?”

Velvet blinked then frowned as she cast her mind back to the night Evie first wandered into Vesuvius.

The skinny, awkward, and very out-of-place teen hovering in the doorway to the club’s main floor, clearly doing her best not to look or stare at the dancers. Velvet took her upstairs where things were quieter so they could talk.

Things were less awkward in Velvet’s private room, where Evie didn’t have to stare at the floor to avoid seeing something she didn’t want to see. Velvet remembered very clearly the moment where Evie felt a little more comfortable in the setting and finally relaxed. Her eyes had sparkled that night, still so full of life and youthful vigour, and an unrelenting altruism that was rare enough among the living, much less the unliving.

It helped Velvet to understand how Isaac felt when he looked at her, when he said how she was so much more alive than other Kindred. If not for the pointed fangs and unnaturally pale skin, Velvet could have easily mistaken Evie for another of the Kine. It was hard not to be a little envious of her.

Then she remembered Beckett had asked a question and she shook her head.

“Not at all. She came to Vesuvius one night because Isaac asked her to check in with me.” She smiled knowingly. “But she was always very kind, and very sweet. She was so _willing_ to help, always asking me if there was anything that needed doing. Most Kindred would ask because they wanted something, and she did need help but... No. There was a willingness to help regardless. She just wanted to help…”

And then Velvet saw her at the hearing. Her eyes were dimmer than before, less hopeful and filled with fear. And if that hadn’t been heartbreaking enough, she saw the way she had clung to Beckett like a child desperately holding onto their parent, dulled eyes filled with bloody tears as the stress of being needled and prodded about the horrors she’d endured finally overwhelmed her.

This life was determined to diminish the fire that was Evie’s humanity, and it killed Velvet to think there was nothing she could do about it.

So she wasn’t going to do nothing.

“I have a few friends in LA who are familiar with Emma and Claudia. I’ll speak with them when I get back, see what they know,” she said firmly. “If I’m lucky, I might find something that tells me who they’re working for.”

Beckett’s eyebrows shot upwards and then furrowed, his brow creasing with a small measure of suspicion.

“I’m not averse to your help, Miss Velour-”

“Please, call me Velvet.”

He hesitated for a second.

“Very well, Velvet. But for curiosity's sake, why _do_ you want to help so badly?”

 _Because I failed Evie_ , she thought. _I should never used her to get rid of Chastity. I should never have let Isaac send her to King’s Way at all, let alone by herself. I should have done more to try and protect her, but all I did was use her, knowing she deserved better._

“Because I’m fond of Evie,” she said, keeping her darker thoughts to herself. “And because I want her to learn how to enjoy the life she has now as best she can. She shouldn’t have to spend every moment of it being miserable or scared.”

Beckett looked at her appraisingly for a moment and then seemed to accept her argument. He nodded and glanced over his shoulder.

“I suppose I should go and drop the bombshell now,” he sighed.

Velvet stared at him in disbelief in disbelief, her mouth hanging open. He had the grace to look somewhat sheepish about it.

“She doesn’t know?!” she finally mustered, incredulously.

“Of course not. I was hoping to come up with a way to tell her that won’t end up with her ripping my arms off,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s scared, Velvet, and she’s getting more paranoid with each passing night. And I still don’t understand why she’s so set on believing everyone is against her!”

“You can’t think of one reason?” she said, raising a brow as she cocked her head to one side, a hand on her hip.

“This goes beyond just buying into some thinblood spewing prophecies,” he retorted. “It’s like her worst fears are coming to life these nights. If it weren’t for the fact that she’d been told she could, I doubt she’d trust me anymore than anyone else. She’d definitely have some doubts about my intentions. If she doesn’t already.”

She bit her lip as she nearly said that that wasn’t true, because to be perfectly honest, he was probably right. 

The girl she had seen at the Palace wasn’t the same one who walked into Vesuvius and agreed to go up against a hunter. A lot of things had changed and broken and whether the assassination attempt had caused any of it or had simply put things into motion was irrelevant. It had simply happened. 

“If it’s alright, I’d like to see her,” she said. “As it so happens, I have a gift.”

Beckett eyed her for a moment, then nodded. Velvet followed him as he led the way back into one of the library’s reading rooms where Evie was waiting.

To be honest, Velvet was quite certain that her presence might not make things easier. If Evie was growing to be more paranoid, it might just make things worse. But she had to try.

What else could she do?

[]

“THEY _WHAT_?!”

“You throw that table and I’ll show you trouble, Young One,” Beckett warned.

Evie was storming up and down the length of the room furiously, just a hair’s breadth away from a fear frenzy. A couple of chairs were lying on the floor, having already been kicked over and it seemed it was taking all of her self-restraint not to do the same to the tables and bookshelves, or rip out her own hair. Her eyes were wide with fear, and the colour had drained from her face, which in Kindred meant that the blood had been sent to other parts of the body to prepare it for fight or flight.

She was terrified and a scared vampire was often, like most beasts, the most dangerous kind.

Beside him Velvet watched the display with a mix of fear and sadness, and she seemed torn between wanting to say something and saying nothing at all. Beckett couldn’t blame her. Right now, handling Evie was like handling a live grenade that could go off at any second.

“You… You’ve _got_ to be _kidding_ me!” she exclaimed breathlessly, coming to a sudden halt and shaking her head. “Our _only_ lead and Mukhtar just _happens_ to lose it!”

“Evie, that’s enough,” Beckett growled.

She rounded on him and he could see the fury in her eyes burning as brightly as the fear.

“No, don’t you tell me it’s not his fault! First he tells Therese about the plan, then her and Jeanette’s childer escape before they can tell us who they work for? There’s no way that’s an accident. He had to let them go. He’s _helping_ them, he’s in on it! I knew we couldn’t trust him-!”

“EVIE!”

Velvet flinched at the shout, but her reaction wasn’t nearly as bad as Evie’s. She practically jumped out of her skin and back-pedalled into a bookshelf hard enough that it wobbled, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and Beckett. Her eyes went wide and she seemed to shrink downwards, like she was trying to make herself look smaller.

Immediately he regretted raising his voice and he drew a deep breath, reigning in his temper before speaking again.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said evenly. “If you won’t trust Mukhtar, then trust me. He’s trying to help you, and he’s doing what he can to ensure Ellwood and Dell are caught. And while I don’t know Therese very well, I’m going to assume that she won’t take kindly to a traitor slipping between her fingers. Am I right?”

Evie paused, but then nodded ever so slightly.

“There you go then.” He gave her a small smile. “We’re going to fix this. Okay?”

She nodded again and some of the tension in her body ebbed away. He debated with himself for a moment on account of Velvet’s presence, but she’d seen Evie at her most fragile twice now so it probably wouldn’t do any further harm. So he extended an arm. 

Evie hesitated at first, torn between her desire to flee and her desire for comfort, before she finally made a decision and flew across the space, pressing herself into his front. She was trembling badly and he made a mental note to never raise his voice at her again.

“I’m sorry I shouted,” he murmured.

She made a little affirmative noise and he rubbed her back before she pulled away. And finally she turned to Velvet.

“Why are you here?”

She winced immediately after she said it, clearly having realised how accusing she had sounded. Velvet had the grace to pay it no mind and just smiled.

“I have something for you,” she said kindly as she opened her purse. “A gift from Skelter that he wanted me to pass along. He said that you probably need it more than he does.”

If she noticed the way Evie tensed up again, she didn’t say anything and continued to root through her purse until, finally, she pulled out a box. It was the kind that jewellry often came in, but it was long and rectangular rather than square like the sort that might contain a ring or a pair of earrings.

She held it out to Evie who took it so delicately that one might think it could explode at any moment. 

Evie looked from Velvet to Beckett as she hesitated to open it. He just gave a nod of his head and, slowly, she cracked it open.

Inside was a necklace made from a braided leather cord as opposed to a chain, and attached to it was a long pointed fang that Beckett recognised almost immediately.

Evie just frowned as she held it in her hand, rubbing her thumb along the fang’s curve.

“It’s a Tarulfang. Very rare and very hard to come by considering that Tarul are by no means easy to kill, even for a vampire,” he explained. “But that’s not what makes them so valuable.”

Evie looked up at him quizzically.

“What does then?” she asked, though the effect was already evident in her body language. The last of the tension had seeped away and she looked considerably calmer than she had for the last couple of nights.

“They can sooth the Beast in a vampire, making them less prone to frenzy. You can feel it, can’t you?”

She paused for a second, taking a moment to reflect and she looked surprised when she looked back up at him. He just smiled back and then nodded towards Velvet who was smiling at the whole exchange. Evie nodded and turned to her.

“Thank you,” she said in a small voice. Her wariness of the older vampire seemed to have diminished a little, and Velvet seemed overjoyed at the fact.

“It’s no problem, sweetheart. Now come here and we’ll see how it looks on you.” 

She gestured for the necklace and Evie gave it to her, then turned around at her beckoning. Velvet fastened it gently then turned her around once more and adjusted the fang tenderly, making sure it hung just right before stepping back with a beam on her face.

“Perfect,” she said happily, clapping her hands together and turning to Beckett. “Don’t you think so?”

His lip curled as Evie turned to him with the first genuine grin she’d worn in nights that hadn’t been prefaced or accompanied by tears. 

“You’ve had worse looks,” he teased which earned him the traditional playful shove.

Velvet giggled and shook her head.

“Now there’s no need to be mean,” she said, placing a hand on both Gangrels’ shoulders, drawing their attention. “I’m heading back to LA tonight. I’ll chat with some people, see if anyone’s noticed anything strange about Claudia and Emma lately. In the meantime, you two stay out of trouble, okay?”

“No promises,” Evie laughed. “I don’t think Beckett knows _how_ to do that.”

Velvet gave her a look that said ‘don’t’ then turned to Beckett.

“Just…” She hesitated a moment and rested a hand on the crook of his arm and fixed him with an imploring gaze. “Keep her safe.”

“I will.” Then he smiled wryly at Evie. “Provided she lets me.”

[]

Roy pursed his lips at Victoria and Delilah, each on their respective screens and having just relayed their latest report. He reached for the nearby wine glass of blood and lifted it to his lips and took a long sip.

“So,” he said, setting it down again. “Evelyn did not break as we had hoped?”

“No Father,” Victoria said coolly. “However, I can confirm that she was in a very distressed state by the end. She was all but clinging to Beckett like a snivelling child.”

“A petty victory at best,” Delilah sniffed. “However, she didn’t seem particularly happy to see even familiar faces, such as Velour and the Nosferatu. Most would have shown some sign of relief. The girl did not.”

“I see.” Roy leaned forwards, elbows resting on the table top, fingers laced together. “The seeds of mistrust have already been sown then?”

“It would appear so, and by a thinblood, no less. The exception here, of course, is Beckett.” Victoria frowned. “The Noddist is proving very protective of the girl, more so than we anticipated. Not to mention the Prince’s interference. The Assamites refuse to act so long as he is protecting them.”

“Mukhtar Bey will not be a problem once they depart Cairo. And if I know Beckett, it won’t be long before he decides to leave. He’s never content to stay in one place for too long, even if it means braving danger,” Roy mused. Then his lip curled in amusement. “He might sit upon a high horse, but he is no different from any other Gangrel at the end of the day, no matter what he might believe.”

He paused to think, turning ideas over in his head before glancing towards the pair of Toreadors - his adoptive childe and new grandchilde - who sat to his right.

“I believe it is time to put you to the test, my dear,” he said, addressing the latter before turning back to his eldest. “Victoria, I want you to keep tabs on Beckett and Evelyn for the time being. If I’m right, I have an idea of where they will be within the next month or so. That will be the perfect time to pounce and give them reason to return to LA.”

Delilah blinked in surprise.

“You mean you intend for us to-?”

“Yes, my dear. And that-” he turned to his new grandchilde “-will be your moment to prove yourself, dear.”

Lisa turned her head to face her childe, smiling adoringly. Heather smiled back at her, and then Roy as she inclined her head.

“I’m grateful to be given the chance, sir.”

He smiled warmly back at her, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes. Not that Heather would realise.

“Please childe, call me Roy. Or even Grandfather, if you like,” he chuckled. “But here in this haven, there is precious little need for such formalities. Here, Heather, we are a family.”

“Then I am happy to be a part of your family, Roy,” she said, a little shyly, but still smiling.

Roy maintained his smile even as he leaned back into his seat.

It was very nearly that time of year again, and while there was every chance that he was misjudging Evelyn, he was reasonably certain that with her newfound freedom of movement, she would all but _beg_ Beckett to take her there. It had been four years, after all. She would want to go, given the chance. And if Beckett was the kind of sire that he seemed to have become, he would give her that chance.

And that was where all the pieces would begin to fall into place. The irony was delicious.


	9. Ghosts of the Past

The next night, a private Gulfstream departed Cairo for Heathrow Airport. 

Beckett would be lying if he said that he wasn’t relieved to be leaving Egypt behind. The country had proven more trouble than it was worth and hopefully, a little time on home soil could give them both a chance to clear their heads and decide what to focus their studies on next. And maybe put some distance between them and their mysterious adversary. Not that they he could be certain that they were based in Cairo, but their agents would need time to locate them again before springing their next trap. The likelihood of them being able to trace the plane to him was slim, though not impossible which was why Cesare had been instructed to closely monitor any communications he could pick up on with his equipment.

Just in case.

Currently he was sitting at his desk, working through some translations and fragments on the Book of Nod that he had obtained in his travels prior to LA and hadn’t really given much thought to since. Between his pursuit of the Ankaran Sarcophagus and this mess with the Assamites, he had almost forgotten about them.

Evie meanwhile was lying on the floor, drawing. She had taken to doodling as she studied his journals, preferring that over writing notes, and it was seemingly becoming a habit. He was happy to let her get on with it. It seemed to help her focus less on their situation and provided better illustrations than his own rough sketches did. Every now and then she’d ask for further details or context and he would pause from his own work to provide. 

He had to admit, it was nice to have a companion again, even if this one asked as many questions as a three year old did and had few reservations about teasing him. If anything, it was refreshing to spend time with someone who wasn’t so thoroughly jaded that they stopped asking questions. 

Too many Kindred accepted things as they were and didn’t stop to ask why they were. Maybe when they were still young and coming to grips with unlife like Evie was, but eventually they just stopped. 

It was his hope that his influence would allow Evie to keep questioning why, if nothing else.

And speaking of asking why, there was a nagging thought in the back of his mind that had been bothering him ever since the hearing. He’d hesitated to ask his questions, given that Evie’s emotional state had been so unpredictable in recent nights and he wasn’t looking to make things worse. 

But since receiving the Tarulfang and leaving Cairo she certainly seemed to be getting back to her old self, or at least had a better handle on her emotions than she’d had recently.

Now was better than never, so he paused from his work and turned to Evie.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask,” he began, folding one leg over the other and resting his hands in his lap. “You said in the hearing that this thinblood, Rosa, told you that you could only trust two people in LA.”

Evie paused from her drawing and shifted into a proper sitting position.

“Yeah? And?”

“Yet Velvet tells me that you didn’t seem to be overly suspicious of her when you met.”

She shrugged but didn’t say anything. Instead she stared into her lap as she fiddled with the Tarulfang hanging around her neck.

“I’m just trying to understand your view of things. Ever since the Assamites came after us, your trust in others seems to have evaporated. Barring me, apparently,” he pointed out. “Is it because I’ve done something to prove worthy of your trust, or because Rosa told you that I could be trusted?”

Evie didn’t look up or answer right away. For a while it seemed that she wasn’t going to before she opened her mouth.

“Like I said at the hearing. You’re the only person who didn’t want something from me,” she muttered. “You didn’t lie to me or manipulate me. If you needed something, you just asked straight up, no false pretenses. And you’ve been good to me. _That’s_ why I trust you.”

“I see. Thank you.” There was a lengthy pause, before he continued, “so I take it that this will be your first time back to the UK in…?”

“Four years,” she replied, finally looking up. “It… feels a lot longer.”

He raised a brow.

“Four years? Then you would have been-”

“Fourteen when I ran away. Yeah. I spent the first year running, not really knowing where to go. I got some help here and there, got picked up by some drifters who were headed west and offered to take me along. We made it to LA and one of the guys in the group passed me along to his sister, Samantha. She took me in, helped me out.”

She smiled sadly as she looked away.

“She was always really good to me.”

There was a very somber note in her voice as she said that, a slight waver that was impossible for him to miss. Guilt and longing, blurred into one. He guessed that this Samantha was the friend that Claudia had mentioned. 

The one Evie had supposedly killed to preserve the Masquerade.

It was one of the more unpleasant (but unfortunately necessary) aspects of their society. Either the people you knew in life moved on and never learned the truth, or they did learn and had to be silenced to preserve the fragile facade that protected the existence of the Kindred from public knowledge. Beckett had been fortunate in that regard. Everyone he had known and loved had been well-convinced of his death and were now dead themselves. He had no one who could pose such a risk to the Masquerade. 

Evie’s situation was a little more complicated, which made his next question a necessary one.

“When we get to London, I need to know if there’s _any_ chance of us running into any familiar faces,” he said. “If there is-”

“No. No, there won’t be,” she said heavily, cutting him off. “I’ve not got any family left, and I didn’t really have many friends. None who’d recognise me, let alone care if they did. We should be fine.”

He raised a brow. Well. That was convenient.

“What do you mean, ‘no family left?’” he asked.

“I mean I have no family,” she repeated, shrugging. “My mum died when I was born, my dad and brother were killed in an... accident. It’s a long story. But yeah. No family.”

There was a pregnant pause before she spoke again.

“What about you?”

He blinked.

“What?”

“I mean… you had family once, right? I know they’re probably all gone, but…”

Trying to divert his attention without completely changing the topic. Fair enough. It wasn’t like anyone else had asked. True, he wouldn’t trust most Kindred with such personal information, but even the ones he _did_ trust had never asked either. It really showed just how young Evie was that she did so with no ulterior motive in mind. She still had that something that made her very human compared to most Kindred. Perhaps even compared to most humans.

Where was the harm?

“I was the second youngest of six. Would have been eight, but my mother suffered two miscarriages. One before me and one after my younger brother. I was glad to have him.” He smirked. “He was my only ally against the tyranny of our four older sisters.”

“Ouch,” she giggled. “So you and your brother got along?”

“Like best friends.” He leaned back in his seat, reflecting fondly. “We’d go on our own adventures just to get out of the house, digging in the muck and searching the woods for secrets. Loved every minute of it.”

He then looked back at her.

“What about your brother? Did you get along before he passed?”

“Like best friends,” she echoed. “He was older than me by a couple of years, so he loved teasing me. But he always said he was the only one who was allowed to do that. He stuck up for me, and hung out with me, even if people made fun of him for it. And then he’d make up for that by tying my hair to my bedpost when I was sleeping... I miss him.”

He nodded understandingly.

“That’s one of the upsides of being on the move and focusing on research. It helps you to move past the hurt and get on with your life.”

“Do you not miss your brother? Or even your sisters? At all?”

“Sometimes. But I’m at peace with their deaths, and mine.” He shrugged. “No point in dredging up old hurts that I can’t do anything about.”

There was another long pause as Evie contemplated that, looking back down at her drawings and running a finger over the page. She was worrying at her lower lip, weighing up the decision to ask another question. Beckett didn’t say anything, just let her decide on her own accord.

“In a couple of weeks… could we go to Northampton?” she asked quietly. “There’s… something I need to do.”

“Is this time sensitive?”

“Kinda. Thirty-first of January, ideally.”

He nodded.

“I’ll make sure we have time for it. For now, why don’t we get back to work?”

She nodded and laid herself back on the floor, picking up her pencil. He spotted a small smile on her face before he turned back to his desk to resume his translations. Then, barely a second later, Evie looked up and said, “I forgot.”

He looked back around at her and frowned.

“What did you forget?”

“It was my birthday last week,” she said. “With everything that happened, I didn’t even think about it.”

He smirked at her.

“Well then we’ll consider this diversion a late birthday present,” he teased.

[]

It was snowing heavily by the time they reached Northampton, and Evie found herself gazing blankly out of the window as Cesare drove to the address she’d given him.

It had been four years since she’d left, yet it didn’t seem to have changed very much. There were less people out on the streets than usual, more due to the snow than the hour, but there were still groups of teens and young adults hanging around on street corners and in shop doorways, usually sharing a lighter for their cigarettes and yelling at the tops of their lungs. No doubt they were drunk.

Beside her Beckett was looking out the window with a mild interest. No doubt he’d pieced together part of the reason she’d wanted to come back here… Or felt obligated to. And no doubt he was wondering if she would share the full story with him.

If there was one person left in the whole world she would consider sharing it with, it was him. And what he’d said about making peace with the deaths of his family… Maybe coming back one last time would help her do the same.

Finally they arrived at the house and she felt her stomach do a nervous flip just seeing it again.

The ‘for-sale’ sign was still up and there were no cars on the drive. Seemed that no one had moved into the property even after all this time. She briefly wondered why before being brought back to reality by Beckett patting her arm.

“This is the place,” she said before he could even ask. She opened the car door, climbed out, and made her way around onto the pavement to look up at the house she had grown up in.

Someone had been maintaining the front garden, keeping the grass cut and the hedges trimmed. Flowers still grew in the planters beneath the living room windows; some hellebore, aconite, and the witch hazel that her mother had apparently loved. A strange flower to favour, but to each their own.

The driveway leading to the garage door was covered in a layer of snow and ice, but the slabbed pathway leading to the front door had been recently cleared. She wondered if maybe the council had decided to keep the property presentable for the sake of keeping up appearances. 

If they had, the locks might have been changed since she’d last been here and she’d have to pick her way in. If not, her old key might still work. 

She heard Beckett murmur something to Cesare before he joined her to look at the house.

“Do you want to go in?” he murmured, breath rising in the bitingly cold air.

“No, not really,” she replied. “But… I have to.”

She had to put this behind her somehow, and maybe going back and finding a way to lay her memories of that night to rest would help somehow. So she began the walk up to the front door with Beckett trailing behind.

For a few seconds, Evie fumbled in her pocket for her key. Amazingly, it still fit and the door opened with a click, leaving her standing in the darkened threshold. The house beyond was pitchblack and cold. If she’d had any doubts before, she didn’t have them now. No one had lived here since she had run away.

For a few seconds she hovered there, then drew in a deep breath and stepped through the doorway.

It felt like the temperature actually dropped a few degrees but it wasn’t the cold that made Evie flinch. It was the fact that everything looked almost exactly as it had all those years ago. Like when she would wake up for school and come down the stairs. The same mirror hung on the wall opposite the stairs, and a side table sat beneath it, complete with landline and a very old pile of letters that looked like bills, all dated four years prior. 

In the corner, coats were still hung on their hooks, and shoes were arranged neatly on a rack on the floor below them. Some were Evie’s but were definitely too small for her now. Paintings and photos were arranged on the walls, and the strangest part was that none of them seemed to have accumulated any dust.

Someone had been keeping the place clean, dry, and inhabitable, but hadn’t bothered to get rid of the previous inhabitants’ belongings? That was weird. And Beckett seemed to sense it too.

“Evie…” he murmured warningly.

“Through here,” she said, leading the way into the living room as she disregarded caution. “This is where it happened.”

Disturbingly enough, it also looked the way it had the last time she’d been here, sans the broken glass and blood. The mirror above the mantelpiece had been replaced with an identical version, or perhaps it was the original but had been repaired for some reason. Her stomach was churning and the Beast whined, urging her to run far away from this place. But she pushed it down. She needed to be here.

“It all started because I was late getting home one night,” she began. “I’d been at a friend’s house and had lost track of the time. My dad was furious with me, said he’d had enough of me thinking I could do whatever I pleased without his say so. He grabbed me, hit me. The usual, really.”

Had she not been staring at the spot that she’d occupied when these events had unfolded, she might have noticed the shock and revulsion on Beckett’s face, and she might have realised how nonchalant she sounded. As it was, she didn’t notice either of those things. Even now she could feel the phantom pains of her face stinging where her father had struck her and the vise-like grip on her upper arm, squeezing so tightly that it felt like her whole arm might pop off.

“I’d learned not to fight it by that point. Fighting just got me hurt. It was better to just take it and hope that it would be over quickly. But I guess my brother was fed up of not being able to do anything about it. Jacob, he- I saw him run out of the room, then the next thing I know, he’s hit dad around the head with a golf club.

“So dad turned on Jacob, started screaming at him for being an ungrateful little shit, for daring to step out of line, for attacking him in his own home… He-” She faltered and her arms came up, wrapping around herself. “He ripped the club out of Jacob’s hands, threw it and just started _beating_ him. Threw him right into the mirror above the mantelpiece and just kept hitting him. Jacob was screaming, trying to push dad away, but nothing _worked_. I’d seen dad lose his temper before, but this was different. It was like he had just… gone mad.”

That was putting it lightly. If anything her father seemed to have gone feral. Even now Evie could remember the sound of Jacob’s ribs breaking under the force of the assault as the scene unfolded before her.

“I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing, and I knew that dad kept a gun in his drawers. He… He didn’t really give much of a shit about the laws or what would happen if people found out, he kept one anyway. He’d threatened us with it before when he was angry. So I thought maybe…”

“You could use it to make him stop,” Beckett murmured, finishing the sentence as she tailed off.

_“Leave him alone,” she demanded, even though she was shaking from head to toe with the gun pointing at her father’s back._

_Slowly he looked around at her and it took all her willpower to keep herself from throwing up. He was covered in blood. Jacob’s blood. His formerly-white dress shirt was now splattered with red, and it was smeared over his face and teeth._

_And he grinned._

_It was a terrifying grin. Predatory. Monstrous. He rose slowly to his feet, apparently unconcerned about the gun now pointed roughly at the centre of his chest. He stepped closer and Evie stumbled a step back, panic flooding her. Jacob lay motionless on the floor, his blood pooling beneath his broken body with bits of glass glittering in his hair and skin, and his head was_ leaking _._

_This wasn’t a normal snap of her father’s temper. If she didn’t do something and fast, he was going to attack her and she was going to die. That simple fact reverberated through every inch of her being, and drove some primal instinct to act._

_As her father took one step closer, she didn’t think. Her finger acted of its own accord and squeezed the trigger._

“I shot him,” she confessed. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t _want_ to. But I was just so _scared_ that I-!”

Beckett placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around, forcing her to look away from the place where she had taken her own father’s life, and drew her into a tight hug. She pressed herself into him, took comfort in the powerful arms wrapped protectively around her as the awful memory suddenly became as vivid as the night that it happened. The smell of blood and gun-powder, the sight of the steaming hole in her father’s forehead and the blood pooling beneath him as he stared glassy eyed at the ceiling, her beloved older brother lying dead on the floor, bleeding from too many places with his head cracked open on the hearth.

It was too much.

She turned on her heel.

“I want to see him before we go,” she said thickly, choking down tears. She wasn’t going to cry, she refused. “Apparently they buried him with mum, so I think I know where to find him.”

Beckett hesitated a moment, then nodded and followed her out of the house. 

Once they were gone, a figure watching from the upper landing peered over the bannister and snorted.

“So very predictable,” Victoria sneered, before turning to call over her shoulder. “Tell them that the girl and the Noddist are on their way.”

[]

The graveyard was deathly quiet by the time they arrived. The snow seemed to swallow up the sounds of the night, save for the crunching of their boots. Evie held onto Beckett’s forearm as they walked, leaving Cesare at the entrance.

The trees on either side of the path bowed inwards, forming a sort of tunnel of greenery that led towards a small chapel standing at the forefront of the graveyard. Here, Evie paused to think back on the days that Jacob had brought her here to visit their mother, trying to recall the route they had taken.

It was a vague recollection at best, but to be honest she was in no real hurry. Much as she wanted to visit Jacob, part of her worried that his death would suddenly seem much more real once she saw his grave for herself. A meander through the tombs and headstones gave her time to steel herself against the inevitable.

She didn’t mention this to Beckett, however, and simply took the lead as they wandered into the graveyard proper.

The gentle glow of the streetlights faded into the distance the deeper they went, leaving them in almost perfect darkness. Vampiric senses made it easy to see clearly, however, in the sea of white, grey, black, and navy blue. They gouged deep tracks in the snow, and Evie was glad that her boots were made of a sturdy, solid leather. Wet socks were a nightmare, even as a vampire.

After a while, however, it became apparent that Evie’s vague recollection had reached the end of its usefulness.

“It was around here somewhere,” she murmured. “Maybe we should split up?”

Beckett nodded in agreement. They took different rows of headstones and began to prowl up and down, keeping an eye out for Jacob’s name. Personally, Evie almost hoped that Beckett found him first. It’d give her a chance to really prepare herself before seeing it for herself.

She didn’t recognise any of the names on the headstones she found, though some epithets rang a bell, meaning she’d read them before during one of her previous visits, and that meant they were looking in the right place. She wasn’t sure if she was pleased about that fact, or if it filled her with dread. Still they were close to their goal for the night, and that was what mattered. The sooner this was done, the sooner she could put it behind her once and for all.

Eventually her feet carried her away from Beckett, leaving him a shadowy figure in the distance. And that was precisely the moment that the world chose to fall completely and utterly silent.

Immediately, Evie tensed and reached for the knife in her coat pocket, though she didn’t pull it out. 

‘Why now? Of all the times they had to show up?!’ she cursed inwardly as she scanned the area around herself, trying to act as casual as possible, like she was still trying to find the correct grave. 

Predictably, all she saw was the long shadows of graves and bare trees, all twisted into disturbing shapes mistakable for a number of any number of creatures.

She glanced back over her shoulder. Beckett didn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss yet and while she couldn’t see the Assamites, she might be able to reach him before they could attack. Her Protean form was small enough and fast enough to cross the distance before they could stop her.

And as if they had read her mind, they appeared.

In an instant the Assamites unveiled themselves, emerging from the shadows. There were no less than five of them, and two of them were so dark they were jet black. Evie’s stomach dropped at the sight of them. The older an Assamite grew, the darker their skin became and that meant these two had to be centuries old.

One of the elders stood between her and Beckett, the other between her and the end of the row of headstones. Their younger companions lurked on either side of the path, one perching themselves on a headstone like they were about to watch a very amusing show, blocking an easy exit between the graves on either side of the path, leaving her effectively surrounded. And the Assamites knew it. 

They were all smirking, confident now that they prey was cornered and cut off from help.

She couldn’t tell if Beckett had noticed the sudden silence or the appearance of the Assamites, but she had to try and alert him to the danger somehow.

She adjusted her footing, keeping a tight grip on her knife as she whipped it out. The Assamites tensed, preparing themselves for an attack, but instead of lunging at any of them, she stabbed the blade through her hand.

In an instant the coppery aroma of vitae filled the air and Evie was certain she saw Beckett’s head jerk in her direction. She then ripped the knife out and threw it at the Assamite who had perched themselves on the headstone and dove into the gap between the two that were standing between her and Beckett, not even pausing to hear the first cursing in Farsi.

As the pair dove to grab her, the younger of the two Kindred screamed as their head was taken clean off by Beckett’s claws, causing them to collapse into a pile of ashes. The other succeeded in seizing Evie by her upper arm, however, and lunged for her neck with their blade. Her feet slid on the icy ground, causing her to lose her balance and the knife to go sailing through the spot her throat had been seconds ago. The Assamite maintained their footing and threw her down onto a tomb with so much force that the stone cracked beneath her.

Evie was certain she felt her ribs crack upon impact and she gasped in pain, as if winded. Her eyes then widened as the Assamite pinned her with their knees, placed the tip of their blade to the side of her throat. 

Pain exploded in her palms and fingers as she threw her hands between her throat and the blade as the Assamite made to decapitate her. Vitae spurted from her hands as the blade dug into her flesh, and she pushed back desperately, trying to force the assassin away. 

They just grinned, as if enjoying her struggle, and then pressed harder. Evie writhed and managed to work her leg up, getting her knee folded against her chest, planted her foot against their chest, and kicked as hard as she could.

The Assamite grunted and was pushed back at first, but then forced themselves forward even as Evie did her damndest to force them away.

Somewhere she could hear yelling and screaming and prayed that it was the Assamites who were screaming as they were felled and not the other way around. As if to reassure her, there was a loud, echoing howl and guttural growling, promptly followed by an agonised scream as a gigantic white wolf ripped out an Assamite’s throat.

That’s when it occurred to Evie, like she’d somehow forgotten the very obvious solution to this predicament.

In an instant she was gone and there was a metallic ringing as the blade struck the cracked and bloodied tombstone. The Assamite stared in disbelief and only regained themselves just as the black wolf cub slipped out between their legs and ran for Beckett on bleeding paws.

They cursed in Arabic and scrambled to their feet just as Beckett grabbed Evie up in his jaws and bounded off into the darkness.

[]

Evie focused her blood into healing the deep gouges in her hands and the cracks in her rib cage. It took more effort than she would have liked, and it made her painfully aware of how close she had come to losing her fingers and, in turn, her head. Nearby, Beckett was barricading the chapel doors to the best of his ability.

The Assamites would know where to find them. Even if Evie hadn’t been bleeding, the snow made it impossible to cover their tracks and while he could in theory turn into a bat and make a false trail leading elsewhere, it meant leaving Evie alone while being tracked by three other Kindred.

“They knew we’d be coming here,” she murmured, shaking her head. “ _How_ did they know?”

Beckett didn’t answer, just focused on shoring up their defenses. Sunrise was still hours away and that meant that battle with the Assamites was all but assured.

“I must be cursed or something,” she continued with a hollow laugh. “How else would this shit follow me everywhere I go?”

“I doubt you’re cursed. Believe me, there are ways of knowing,” Beckett said as he approached, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out a pistol and held it out to her.

She looked at the weapon disdainfully but took it anyway. She’d lost her knife. There was no sense in having no weapon on her person.

“So then why is it always _me_?” she asked. “Why does this keep happening?”

“I don’t know. But maybe we can get to the bottom of it tonight.” He then paused and sat beside her, talons already unsheathed and ready.

“You think? How?”

“When we were at the house, I felt like something was off. Like no one was living in the house, yet it still looked like someone should have been. I think a more thorough search is needed if we’re going to find anything.”

“I noticed it too,” she agreed. “It looked like nothing had changed since I ran away. Except someone cleaned up the mess.”

Beckett frowned.

“So someone is maintaining the house as it was but isn’t living there. Evie… I need to ask you something.”

She swallowed and felt her heart sink a little.

“Do you think there’s a possibility that your father might have worked for a Kindred at all? One who may have been… inconvenienced by his demise?”

This time her heart plummeted. 

The very notion was disturbing. The idea that a Kindred could have been involved in her life, even at the periphery… It made her feel ill. She shook her head. She wasn’t sure she could handle the idea of that. Yet it made some degree of sense. She killed a useful mortal and then disappeared. Then she reappeared in LA’s Kindred community. If this Kindred was angry at her for what happened that night, then tracing her movements wouldn’t have been impossible once she became known.

And that made her very grateful for the unnatural silence that fell. She’d rather face Assamites than think about the possibility that the Kindred had had a longer sway over her life than she’d realised.

Beside her Beckett was concentrating, and then slowly seemed to deflate and the colour of his body, his hair, even his clothing drained away as he transformed into a rolling cloud of mist that crawled up the wall into the rafters. Evie tucked the gun into her pocket and shifted into her Protean form, crawling under a pew to wait for their pursuers to appear.

And appear they did, though from where was impossible to tell. From where Evie could see the leader - jet black and sporting a torn jacket where Beckett’s claws had ripped through the leather - grinned smugly at the barricaded doors to the chapel and shook their head in amusement.

They shouted something in Arabic to their remaining companions, and the pair moved to opposite sides of the room. 

The younger Assamites prowled the pews in search of their quarry while the Elder simply strolled along the aisle towards the altar, always watching from the corner of their eye. None of them had noticed the bank of mist in the rafters and had yet to discover the wolf cub either. It was only when one Assamite bent over to check under the pew did she pounce, sinking needle-like little teeth into their throat before transforming, and her needle-like teeth became long fangs.

Behind her the two other Assamites were about to lunge when the mist came down on them like a curtain, taking them by surprise. When it dissipated, Beckett had his claws in the younger Kindred’s throat and promptly tore it out. They crumbled into ash before they could even scream, and he made to attack the Elder before he realised what they were now staring at.

Evie didn’t notice any of these things. The Assamite between her fangs gone limp in her arms and a steady stream of vitae was lapping over her tongue . It wasn’t warm but the tang of copper and the overwhelming rush of euphoria more than made up for the chill. It tasted so _good_ that she barely realised what was happening or where she was until the Assamite Elder wrenched her away and threw her clear across the room where she crashed into the far wall and hit the floor, her head throbbing.

In an instant Evie rolled onto her front and spat out a mouthful of vitae onto the flagstones, trembling with horror at the realisation of what she had almost done.

The Elder was speaking quickly and quietly in Arabic, trying to rouse the younger Assamite. They were a very pale grey and looked ill, even for a Kindred, but they hadn’t slipped into torpor. Evie hadn’t been able to hold on that long, and strangely enough she found herself relieved that that was the case, even if they had been trying to kill her.

But she didn’t get a chance to speak or do anything, as Beckett seized her under the arm, dragged her up, threw the Elder a pointed look and practically dragged Evie out of the chapel’s backdoor. And to Evie’s shock, the Elder let them go.

Out in the cold, Beckett tried steering her towards the entrance where Cesare would be waiting - providing the Assamites hadn’t gotten to him first - but she pulled back.

“Beckett, I-”

“Not now,” he growled, trying to lead her again, but still she pulled.

“I still haven’t seen Jacob!” she snapped.

“It’ll have to wait, we need to go. Now.”

“But-!”

“Evie, listen. If there’s even a chance that whoever sent the Assamites is at the house, then we need to go _now_. We can come back another night. Your brother’s grave isn’t going anywhere,” he said sternly. “We need to go.”

She hesitated again, debating if it was worth disobeying and running off alone. But he was right. The house was their best bet for finding her pursuer… Whoever that may be.

So she reluctantly followed with a silent promise to Jacob that she would come back to see him when this was over.

[]

The car ride back to the house was mostly silent, after Beckett had firmly silenced a frantic Cesare who had promptly began to make a fuss at the sight of blood on their persons. Mostly on Beckett’s person.

Ordinarily Evie didn’t mind silence because it gave her time to think to herself. Right now, however, it was stifling. Beckett had seen what she had done back in the chapel and had not once commented on it. Maybe he was saving the lecture for later, once the immediate problem was taken care of. She fully expected to get an earful once they were done and Cesare was preoccupied with some other task.

She wasn’t looking forward to it.

When they finally arrived, Beckett ordered Cesare to circle the block as a precaution. No sense in leaving him - their only means of a swift escape - as a sitting duck.

As he pulled away into the darkness, Beckett turned to Evie with a grave look on his face.

“I know it was an accident, and that you weren’t planning on it,” he said sternly. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

She nodded, still feeling a little queasy as they turned to the house. At least he’d kept it short.

Both Gangrel prepared their claws as they headed up the garden path. There was still no sign of anyone inside, but those two Assamites had survived their encounter in the chapel. No doubt that if there had been anyone using the house, they were either ready to spring an attack, or had already fled.

“Unlock the door, but don’t open it,” Beckett ordered as they neared the front door. 

Evie just nodded and did as she was told. The lock clicked and he waved for her to move clear of the door. She did so and stood to one side as he kicked the door in. And she was glad because there was a brilliant flash of light just milliseconds before he dove out of the way. A bolt of arcane energy arced barely centimeters over his head and struck the grass behind them. The layer of snow was all that kept it from abruptly erupting into flame.

Beckett snarled and led the way inside.

“Alright, get out here now!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “I’ve killed more people in the last few weeks than I’ve had to in _years_ , and you know what? I’m sick of it! I’m not going to let you people do this to us anymore! So come out here now and tell me who you work for, and _maybe_ I don’t have to start putting my imagination to good use!”

His demand was met with silence… And then a slow clap.

There were footsteps from the landing above, muffled slightly by the carpet, as two Kindred women appeared at the top of the steps. And they both looked far too pleased with themselves.

“Did you hear that, Victoria?” the woman on the left laughed. “The Gangrel has an imagination?”

“It certainly seems to believe it does,” the woman on the right - Victoria - replied smugly. “And here I thought all those fleabags did was run the wilds like the beasts they are.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” Evie demanded. “Are you the ones working with Ellwood and Dell?”

The women exchanged a glance and then laughed.

“Oh, you poor sweet thing, if only you knew,” Victoria cooed, her lip curling as her features began to distort and shimmer. The other woman’s did too, and moments later the pair were replaced by Emma Ellwood and Claudia Dell. 

Evie’s jaw went slack as she stared at the pair in disbelief, but Beckett merely shook his head.

“I see that you ladies are quite skilled with the use of Obfuscate,” he mused. “Tell me. How long have you been impersonating Miss Ellwood and Miss Dell?”

“Ever since they departed LA,” the other woman replied coolly. Then she added, “Delilah, by the way. Delilah Cruise.”

“And Victoria Manse. At your service.”

The words were said mockingly.

Their visages dropped once again, and the pair eyed Beckett and Evie with cool disdain, and a little venomous amusement. Like they were very much entertained by everything they had done and the effect they’d had.

“Why do you want me dead?” Evie snapped.

But the pair shook their heads.

“That’s not for us to tell, girl,” Delilah sneered. “You’ll find out, soon enough. Provided you and your… mentor… don’t get too hot under the collar…”

She snapped her fingers and the front door slammed shut before promptly bursting into flames. Suddenly the walls and floors surrounding the pair were alight with circles and pentagrams that had been painted in blood, and the temperature began to rise. The flames spread over the walls, slowly at first, but faster and faster the further they went. It took everything Evie had in her not to bolt, even as the Beast inside howled and screamed and threw itself at its bars, desperate for escape in the wake of the flames.

Victoria and Delilah simply smirked, apparently untroubled by the blaze, before the former reached into her pocket. 

“I trust your friend, the Nosferatu, will know what to make of that,” she called as she threw a small object to Beckett. “Provided you make it out alive.”

Without another word, the two vanished from sight, no doubt already having their escape route prepared. Evie had half a mind to follow when there was a crack and wooden beams fell from the ceiling and effectively blocked the stairs. 

“What do we do now?” she shouted over the crackling of the flames as they spread faster and faster over the walls and door.

Smoke began to flood the entrance hall. Her mixed instincts that were torn between telling her she should be choking and that she no longer had any need to breathe diverted her attention from the fact that the spread of the flames seemed deliberate. As if they were trying to funnel the pair towards the kitchen where they could escape through the backdoor.

Beckett, however, did. He shoved whatever it was that Victoria had tossed to him into his pocket and led the way down the hall. No sooner than he did the flames began to follow at a pace, practically chasing them into the kitchen. The heat smothered the air and still Evie’s mixed instincts were screaming at her, making it difficult to focus. The panicked howling of the Beast wasn’t helping, even if it was urging her to escape. It’s aims were blind and without direction, and it was only by handing onto Beckett’s arm did she keep moving forwards.

It was like being back in Grout’s manor all over again, and it had been dumb luck that led her to that window, plus no small measure of blind panic that forced her to jump. And that fire had been indiscriminate about what and where it burned.

“Evie, please tell me you know another way out,” Beckett growled.

She jolted out of her thoughts and looked around at him. They were in the kitchen and, to his dismay, the fire had spread over the backdoor.

“I… Maybe-!” 

She turned and ran for the door on the right hand side of the room. It was locked, as it had always been. She had no idea what was on the other side. There was a window, she knew that, but her father had always kept a blind drawn over it and had forbidden her and Jacob from entering under any circumstances. It seemed today was the day that she finally broke that rule.

With all the strength she could muster, she ripped out the handle and the lock gave way, causing the door to fly open.

Had she the time to search the room as she had wanted to when she was young, she would have noticed the mini-fridge under the desk, and if she had searched it she would have found bags of blood neatly arranged inside.

But she didn’t notice and she didn’t care. Instead she scrambled up onto the desk and ripped down the blind with Beckett following. The smoke was flooding the room and the stench of flames was close behind.

The double-glazed window exploded outwards under the force of Gangrel fists and claws and the pair barrelled into the garden and clambered over the nearest fence, dropping onto the neighbouring lawn as the house behind them swiftly went up in flames. There was no sign of Victoria or Delilah, just orange flames and a column of smoke billowing into the night sky. 

Hours later, police and firefighters alike would be unable to determine the cause or source of the blaze that had consumed the building. And while neighbours would swear they had heard indistinct shouting, no proof of arson ever was found. 

The fire would remain a mystery, and the smoking shell was all that would attest to it. 


	10. The City of Angels

Cesare picked them up a block away from the burning house and sped away just moments before panicked mortals began to emerge from their homes, wrapped in pyjamas and dressing gowns, and began to stare in horror at the blaze. With any luck, no one would make a connection between the fire and the car.

Evie, however, was sincerely doubting that since luck didn’t seem to be on her side at all these nights. She sunk into her seat, once again freshly acquainted with the stench of smoke and flame as it clung to her and her clothes and a thin layer of blood sweat was beginning to dry against her skin. She hadn’t even realised she’d been sweating.

Beside her, Beckett had reached into his pocket and pulled out the object Victoria had thrown to him, which he eyed suspiciously. It was a USB stick.

“What do you think’s on it?” she asked.

He paused, as if he didn’t know how to answer, and she frowned.

“You… _do_ know what a USB stick is, don’t you?” she asked slowly.

“I try to keep up with technology, but frankly it gets ahead of me sometimes,” he confessed gruffly. He looked vaguely uncomfortable with being caught not knowing something, and clearly was not in the mood to be teased right now.

Fortunately for him, she wasn’t in the mood to do any teasing anyway.

“It holds computer files, like documents and things,” she explained, then reached over, rotating a portion of the plastic covering to reveal the port. “You put this in the port on the computer and you can access files and add new ones to it.”

“Ah, I see.”

He remained silent for a long few moments as he turned the USB over in his fingers, as if committing that to memory, before he tucked it back into his pocket and let his head lean back into the headrest. Evie didn’t blame him for feeling exhausted. She’d hoped for more of a break before their enemy struck again.

At least this time their lackeys had bothered to reveal themselves. Victoria Manse and Delilah Cruise.

She rested her head against the window, watching as the snowfall outside transformed into a flurry.

Just a few years ago she’d have spent the next morning listening to the radio, all while dressing into her school uniform as slowly as she could manage without being told off for it, desperately praying that her school’s name would be on the list of closures. When it was, she and Jacob would go to the park together and spend the whole day running around, throwing snowballs, building snowmen, and doing whatever they could to make their fun last as long as possible before they were forced to return home, shivering and planning on how to make as little mess as possible on their way in so they could get straight to drinking hot chocolate and not have to mop up after themselves.

Her chest tightened painfully just thinking about it. When this was over, she would come back and see him. Properly. No assassins, no fires, no near cases of accidental-diablerie. Just quietly reflecting on the time they had spent together. And no doubt wishing he could actually be there.

She didn’t want everything to go back to how it had been, not with their father, but having Jacob back… That, she thought, might be worth killing for.

“For the record-”

She looked around at Beckett who hadn’t lifted his head from the headrest but was looking at her sideways - or at least she thought he was from the tilt of his head. The sunglasses made it hard to tell.

“-I’m taking the first shower when we get back,” he said as his lip curled into a grin.

She grinned back, albeit a little weakly.

“Not if I beat you to it.”

“You’re assuming you’re faster than me.”

“You’re assuming I don’t have a plan.”

“You don’t have a plan.”

“No, you don’t have a plan.”

At this point, Cesare cleared his throat, interrupting them before they could make a game out of their teasing.

“Excuse me Signore, but I believe you should know. The authorities have been alerted to the fire and are on their way,” he explained over his shoulder.

“I see. Just make sure we steer clear of any, and we should be fine,” Beckett instructed, looking mildly irritated. Not necessarily about the interruption, but rather because it was Cesare who was doing the interrupting.

“Provided Victoria and Delilah didn’t tip them off,” Evie muttered darkly. “They knew we’d be at the cemetery and the house. What are the odds they know the car’s license plate?”

“Good point.” Beckett paused to scratch his chin and deliberate. “Cesare. Find a place to drop us off away from any main roads and dispose of the car. Then secure a new one and pick us up.”

“A new car, Signore? But surely-”

“A rental will do, Cesare. They can’t plan for every continuity,” he interrupted gruffly. “Just find a place to drop us someplace out of the way.”

“Of course Signore. Miss Byrne… Do you have any suggestions?”

Evie blinked and frowned. Truth be told, Northampton didn’t have a whole lot of places that Beckett was hoping for, not that she could think of. But there were places they could be relatively discrete, even out in the open. 

“There’s nowhere that’s really ‘out of the way’ around here, but there’s a park on Victoria Promenade. I doubt there’d be anyone but a few drunks out there, and it’s big enough that when you get far enough you can’t be seen from the road.” She shrugged. “It’s called-”

She paused for a second as she recalled the park’s name and snorted as she tried to stifle a laugh. Beckett sighed and reached up to rub his eyes behind his sunglasses.

“If it’s something rude, just say it.”

But she shook her head and said, “I just remembered. It’s called ‘Becket’s Park’.”

She couldn’t see it herself, but he rolled his eyes behind his shades.

“Just drop us there, Cesare.”

“Very well Signore. How would you like this vehicle disposed of?”

“Burn it, crash it, leave it on someone else’s driveway, I don’t care. Just make sure that it can’t be traced back to us in any way,” he said brusquely. “Then secure another vehicle and get us back to the hotel. I’ll contact Okulos in the meantime.”

Cesare gave his confirmation and drove into town proper along Victoria Promenade before coming to a halt at the edge of Becket’s Park. It was a vast field of green with gravel pathways that connected the various facilities such as the tennis courts, a playground, and the bridge leading to the marina on the other side of the river, and they were lined with trees and shrubbery, as were the banks of the River Nene on the far side of the park. Benches were scattered about, all of them seemingly vacant, and at the park’s entrance was some sort of abstract art installation.

As Evie had said, it wasn’t out of the way - it was across the road from the rear end of the Royal Derngate Theatre in fact - but there really was no one around but a handful of very drunk teenagers who were occupying a playground some distance away, shouting and singing at the top of their lungs. Provided Evie and Beckett steered clear of them, they probably wouldn’t be noticed.

Once Cesare drove away, they picked a path leading to the opposite side of the park from the teens and followed it down towards the river. It was once they were far enough away from the road and the teenagers were a mere shadow in the distance that Beckett pulled out his phone and dialled a number.

After a long few seconds, whoever he was calling answered.

“Okulos? It’s me. I need a favour.” He paused. “I’ve got this USB stick and- Yes I know what one is-” he glanced sideways at Evie with a wry grin “-anyway I recently… received one. No, I’ve not seen the contents yet. I haven’t gotten back to my computer yet. But depending on its contents, I might need your help with it… ...I’m in the UK at the moment… No. Northampton actually. I had some business to attend to…

“...Yes, you heard correctly. She’s here right now. Why? ...Okulos, if you want to speak to her, just say so and spare me the bullshit... Fine.”

He held out the phone and Evie took it, frowning a little. Beckett was still grinning however, so she held it to her ear.

“Hello?”

“And hello to you too. You must be Beckett’s new childe,” Okulos said wryly, and she could practically _hear_ him smirking at Beckett’s expense. “Evie, right? I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“And I don’t know anything about you,” she replied.

“That’s because I don’t care to be known,” he chuckled. “Okulos. I’m an old friend of your new sire. Tell me… were you the one who told him what a USB stick is, or did he really figure that out by himself? And for the record, I know he didn’t figure it out. He’s better with the tech than most Kindred our age, but he’s still crap compared to you Fledglings.”

“How long have you known Beckett?” she asked, sidestepping the question. Though by now she’d learned enough about Kindred to know that that in itself was an answer. Saying nothing often said more than words.

“Longer than you might think. You know, we were both Embraced in the same place at about the same time,” he said conversationally. “Less than a decade apart, in fact, though we only met when I kept swooping in to pluck Beckett’s archaeological finds out from under his nose.”

She frowned.

“And now you’re friends?”

“As much as any two Kindred can be. In fact, he was the one who suggested we work together rather than against each other. Now I dig up information while he does all the hard work outside. Works for me.” He chuckled, though a little humorlessly. “Kaymakli has made field work less appealing these nights.”

“What’s Kaymakli?”

“Ask Beckett. I try _not_ to think about that damn place,” he growled. “But anyway. Dredging up bad memories isn’t why I wanted to talk to you.”

“So why _did_ you want to talk to me?”

“Well you’re Beckett’s childe. Or you are now. I figure that means we might as well get acquainted, seeing as we’re going to be working together from now on,” he replied. “Or at least, we are so long as you’re in our line of work. And trust me, so long as you’re with Beckett, you will be.”

“I know. Part of the deal is that I’m his ‘assistant’ now. Not that we’ve had a load of time for work lately.”

“I know. This mess with some Kindred who wants you dead.” He audibly scoffed. “You must have pissed someone off big time to garner this much attention.”

“Tell me about it. We just got attacked again tonight.”

“You did? The Assamites again? And before you ask, yes, your old man told me about Cairo. Now tell me what happened.”

Evie quickly gave Okulos a bullet point account of the events of the last few hours, from their visit to her childhood home, to the attack at the cemetery, and then the fire that Victoria and Delilah had started after giving them the USB. Beckett remained silent for the duration of the conversation, just kept a sharp eye out for anyone who might catch sight of them.

“I see. Victoria Manse and Delilah Cruise… I don’t know those names, but maybe I can do a bit of digging. Hell, for all we know, everything you’ll need to know is on that USB and they’ve encrypted the files so that only a skilled hacker - such as myself - could access them.”

“But _why_?”

“Why else? To toy with you before they end you. This is a game, Evie, and they’re stringing things out because they enjoy it. This is how things are. Kindred have all the time in the world, and so they make a game out of pretty much everything, whether its revenge or just messing with some Neonates on a leash. The only reason you’re not dead already is because they love the show.”

“So I’m supposed to be surprised to learn that Kindred are arseholes? What a shock.”

Okulos laughed.

“Ah, I like you already. And I think I get why Beckett likes you too,” he said, still chuckling. “You two look after yourselves, okay? Let me know what you find on that USB. I’ll do some digging into Victoria Manse and Delilah Cruise in the meantime.”

“...Thanks Okulos.”

“No problem. Pass me back to your old man now. I need to run this all by him real quick.”

She did as he said and Beckett took the phone. So she took over watch duty in his stead, keeping an eye on the shadows for any sign of someone watching or following them. For now, they seemed to be alone.

By the time he hung up the phone, they'd reached the river bank. 

They exchanged a brief glance, Beckett shrugged, and they picked their way down to the water to try and wash away some of the grime. 

“Evie,” Beckett began after several minutes of silence. “You do realise that we have to go back?”

She frowned, wiping the water from her face. 

“Back?”

He shifted into a sitting position. 

“To LA. If Therese and Jeanette’s childer have met Final Death, they need to know. And, with any luck, they might know something about Manse and Cruise.”

Her heart sank at the proposition. Back to LA? After everything that had happened? She had imagined it would be years before she even had to _consider_ going back, let alone a month and a half.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” she breathed, shaking her head.

“I wish I was,” he sighed. “But this is the best lead we have. If we can find out who they work for-”

“I know, I know, we find out who wants me dead… I just- I don’t know if I _can_ go back. Besides, Okulos said he’d look into Manse and Cruise,” she pointed out. “Can’t we just… I dunno, text Therese or something and go literally _anywhere else_?”

Beckett fixed her with a stern glare.

“Like what? We leave her a voicemail, like, ‘hey Therese, just letting you know that Ellwood and Dell have been dead since they left LA and were replaced to try and get to us, but don’t worry we’re looking into their impersonators.’ How well do you think Therese would appreciate us doing that instead of coming to her directly?”

Evie didn't reply, and that was answer enough. It didn’t soothe the hot swell of anger in her chest, however.

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it was important,” he impressed. “Besides, you can’t avoid LA forever. Sooner or later, you’ll find yourself needing to go back, and there’s hardly a Blood Hunt waiting for you there. 

“Therese offered you her protection, and the Anarchs aren’t holding your decision against you. Chances are, you’re safer in LA than you are anywhere-”

“It’s not about being safe!” she shouted, rounding on him. “LA was the first place in my entire life where I felt safe! Where I learned who I was without my dad! It’s where I learned I didn’t have to spend every day of my life measuring every step, every little thing I did out of fear! I learned how not to be scared of fucking up every little thing!

“And then some arsehole Embraced me, and that was all taken away! I had to go back to measuring every step or there’d be consequences! Had to relearn how to bite my tongue, bow my head and do as I was told if I wanted to not die _again_ ! I _murdered_ the person who taught me how to live in the first place! Can’t you understand why I really can’t stomach the idea of going _back_?!”

It was oddly satisfying to see how taken aback Beckett was, and that he had the good grace to look a little guilty. But it was also a little sickening, the way the Beast seemed to revel in his discomfort, so she turned away and stared pointedly into the water.

At least she didn’t look as bad as she had after the Venture Tower went up, she thought jokingly.

After a long few minutes of silence, she opened her mouth to speak. As Beckett did.

“I just-”

“It’s just that-”

They stopped dead and stared at one another, before Beckett gestured for her to speak first. She nodded and swallowed on the lump forming in her throat.

“I just… I know you’re right,” she said thickly. “It’s just not going to be easy, is all…”

“I know, Young One. I don’t expect it to be. But I’ll be with you. I promise.”

He opened his arm and she shifted to sit closer and leaned into his side, taking comfort in his presence. Even if the stink of smoke was clinging to his clothes.

“You stink,” she prodded playfully. “Maybe you do need the first shower.”

“I’m glad you agree, because I intend to take it,” he retorted.

Then his phone buzzed.

“Cesare,” he said, after reading the message. “He’s got a new car and is on his way.”

She nodded. They both got to their feet and turned, beginning the walk back up towards the road where Cesare would pick them up.

[]

Therese had a cab waiting for them at LAX that would bring them to the Asylum, and Evie blinked when she caught sight of the one sitting in the driver’s seat. The Cabbie, however, seemed less surprised to see her and simply nodded in greeting as they approached.

“A pleasure to see you again, Miss Evie,” he said. “I am glad to see that you still walk the night.”

Beckett stopped and frowned, glancing between the pair.

“You know him?”

“He’s the one who got me out of Santa Monica during the Blood Hunt,” she explained as she made to climb into the backseat of the cab. “He’s one of us.”

The Cabbie simply chuckled as they seated themselves in the back, and began the drive towards Santa Monica. 

For a long while there was silence in the car and Evie felt herself fighting the urge to vomit. It pressed up against her lungs and she felt her chest tightening as the city drew closer and closer, with its sea of glittering lights and skyscrapers stretching towards the sky. In the distance she could make out the Venture Building, a little shorter than before, though she could just about make out signs of reconstruction around the top even at this distance.

“There has been much upheaval in the city as of late,” the Cabbie remarked. “Many pieces on the board have shifted in the time you have been gone.”

“What can you tell us about the situation here in LA?” Beckett asked.

“I know only from whispers amongst the Kindred who I have taken to their destinations. The Anarchs have pushed the Camarilla back a considerable amount, and the Primogen Council are unhappy with this fact. Baron Rodriguez has made the destruction of Prince Lacroix a rallying point for many Anarchs and even some Autarkis,” he explained. “Prince Voerman, however, has quelled the worst of the violence for the moment. Even now her sister, Miss Jeanette, is acting as an Emissary between her and the Barons to try and establish a fragile peace. It has surprised many with how effective their efforts have proven, given their tumultuous relationship.”

He then glanced into the rearview mirror, and even through his shades Evie realised that he was giving her a knowing look… Like he knew that there was more to Therese and Jeanette than was widely known. And he knew that she knew too.

“So there’s a decent chance that we won’t get molotov’d in the street? Wonderful,” Beckett snorted.

“It is true that the level of street violence increased considerably in the weeks following your departure from LA, Mr Beckett. However things are quiet for now. I do hope they remain that way. Driving is difficult when people are shooting at each other through your windows.”

“I can imagine.”

Evie found that listening to them talk wasn’t actually helping her with the rising urge to vomit. If anything it made matters worse. And as the city lights drew closer and closer, the buildings beginning to loom up and out of the darkness, she could feel the vitae burning in the back of her throat as her stomach lurched, and she knew there would be no holding it down.

“Pull over,” she gagged, trying to push down the rising surge before it could end up all over her shoes.

The Cabbie complied, completely unphased as Evie all but threw the car door opened and stumbled out onto the roadside, retching up no small amount of blood into the dirt and staining it a dark bloody red. Her eyes burned with tears as her stomach seized and contracted, forcing up another stomachful of blood and leaving a mess that could easily resemble a murder scene that was short a couple of bodies.

She didn’t know when Beckett had climbed out of the cab, but he was knelt down beside her and rubbing her back and trying to hold her hair out of her face as she brought up more blood.

The Beast howled and snarled at the loss of its precious vitae, demanding more in its place but Evie was struggling to simply regain control of her body as she dry-heaved painfully, her whole body trembling from head to toe. Somewhere behind the cab a pair of headlights from a passing car slowed to a stop and a pair of mortals climbed out.

“Hey, is everything okay?” one of them called.

“It is fine,” the Cabbie called. “This man asked me to bring him and his daughter to the hospital. As you can see, she is unwell.”

“Do you need us to call an ambulance? That’s- Fuck!” 

The mortals, having already seen the blood, quickly realised how much of it there way.

“Dude, she _needs_ an ambulance,” the first mortal - a young man from the sounds of it - insisted. “We can call one-”

“That will be unnecessary,” the Cabbie replied coolly. “Though you can be of assistance. She has, after all, lost a lot of blood.”

The Cabbie stepped out of his car and led the pair of mortals over. Evie could smell the blood in their veins and the Beast howled longingly, aching for it - no, _demanding_ it from them - and she could barely find the strength to fight. But if she didn’t fight, she would surely drain them dry to regain what she had lost and that. She couldn’t do that. She _refused_ to do that!

“It is alright,” the Cabbie said calmly, holding his hands at his sides. “You will not harm them. I will not permit it. But you must feed and replenish what you have lost before we enter the city proper. There is much to do, and you will need your strength.”

“With all due respect-”

“You have my word, Mr Beckett. No harm will come to your childe, nor these mortals,” the Cabbie pressed, still cool and impassive, yet so utterly certain. 

It was… comforting. In a very strange way.

Slowly, Evie and Beckett rose from the ground to face the mortals. It was a young man and his girlfriend by the looks of it. Any traces of concern or panic had been wiped from their faces and they looked… placid. Unphased. Like they had no real awareness anymore. They could only be under the influence of a Discipline.

The Cabbie gestured from Evie to the mortals.

“Feed. You will take only what you need, and they will be unharmed. I will call for someone to collect them so that they are safe when you are done.”

Something about the way he said it was so absolute that she could only believe it, and without any hesitation she moved towards the young man and latched her fangs into his neck, and began to drink deeply… Yet despite how hungry she felt, there was no overwhelming urge for her to drain him. The Beast was calm and silent. It didn’t even revel at the taste of copper lapping over her tongue or the thick blood settling in her belly. It was so placid, it might not even exist.

She then moved on to the young woman, who offered herself as the man did, and again Evie felt no desire to drain her for every drop. Just enough to sate herself, not enough to cause any harm.

And as promised, the Cabbie parked their car at the side of the road to hide the blood splatters, bundled the couple inside, and called for an ambulance as Evie and Beckett waited in the backseat of the cab. Once the ambulance arrived and took to treating the young couple for the symptoms of anaemia, the Cabbie resumed his place in the driver’s seat and they were back on their way to Santa Monica.

[]

The Asylum looked much the same as ever. Same gothic-style windows, same peeling posters plastered all over the walls, same goths, emos, and wannabes hanging outside the main doors, either having a smoke or having been thrown out for one reason or another.

Evie didn’t immediately climb out of the cab when it came to a stop outside of the club, just stared up at the sign.

Somewhere inside, Therese was waiting for them, and while Evie now knew that she wasn’t trying to kill her and had offered her protection, it was still nerve-wracking to think about facing her again.

Still there was no sense in delaying the inevitable, and while she still felt queasy, this time she found it considerably easier to keep herself from spitting up blood as she and Beckett headed inside.

It took a second to adjust to the flashing strobe lights and pounding music that flooded the air and assaulted her heightened senses. It had been a while since she had last visited a nightclub and it seemed that whatever adaptations her senses may have developed had been somewhat diminished. It was tempting to clap her hands over her ears, but instead she focused on leading the way to the bar where Cal was working.

His brow rose at the sight of the pair as they emerged from the crowd, his small beady eyes fixing on Evie in particular.

“Well damn kid, haven’t seen you in a while. And with your old man, I hope.” He glanced at Beckett derisively. “You always let your kid run around in nightclubs, pal?”

“She can look after herself,” Beckett replied coolly.

“Whatever you say. Not my business. Speaking of business though, Therese said you’d be showing up tonight, kid, and told me to send you to her asap. Go on up.”

She nodded at him and then glanced up at Beckett. He nodded encouragingly and gestured for her to lead the way, so she headed for the lift leading up to Therese’s office. The moment the doors slid shut the pounding music was muffled and the strobing lights were cut off, replaced by the dim bulbs in the lift’s ceiling. 

It rattled upwards, as it always did, and Evie willed it to slow its ascent just a little so as to delay the inevitable.

It came to a halt regardless and the doors slid open, revealing the small room that preceded Therese’s office. It was bare as always, save for the painting on the wall and the end table below it. A copy of the LA Times was sat on top of it with a picture of the Venture Tower, its upper floors surrounded by scaffolding. According to the headline, the tower was still under reconstruction and that the Lacroix Foundation would be dedicating the building to Sebastian Lacroix, who had been killed in the so-called terrorist attack that had occured that night.

She glowered at the mention of his name. As far as she was concerned, he deserved to be forgotten completely and utterly, not memorialised.

Beckett, meanwhile, had opened the door and was beckoning for Evie to follow.

She did so reluctantly and followed him into the office.

It hadn’t changed much since Evie had last visited. Same red walls, tall statues, and the wall-length painting of the Voerman sisters with their father. There was also the heart-shaped bed in the corner opposite the vanity, which was adorned with even more post-it notes stuck around the frame, and from here Evie could make out names underlined in red, Therese’s among them. Jeanette was clearly still hard at work convincing everyone that she was still trying to undermine everything Therese did.

And speaking of Therese, she was seated at her desk and looked up as they entered.

“Please, come in,” she greeted as she rose from her seat. “I apologise I wasn’t able to provide you with a proper escort to the club, but I trust the driver I sent sufficed?”

She had traded out her plain brown blazer and skirt for a sleek black tailored suit, but she had kept her glasses, updo, and stiff refusal to wear eyeshadow firmly in place. Her smile was crisp and professional as always, and she looked rather relaxed despite the numerous burdens that were undoubtedly weighing on her shoulders.

“He handled himself extremely well, given the circumstances,” Beckett replied vaguely. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Prince Voerman. I am Beckett. And no doubt, you are familiar with my childe.”

He clasped a hand over Evie’s shoulder while that sense of protectiveness seemed to emanate from him.

“Very much so,” she said, inclining her head. She clapped her hands together in front of her and turned to Evie. “It’s very good to see you, after all that’s transpired. I have no doubt that Jeanette will be thrilled to see you once she gets back. She asked me to extend her… fondest regards, once she heard you would be returning.”

“I’m sure… Oh, uh. Congratulations on becoming the new Prince,” Evie said a little hastily.

“Thank you.” Therese’s smiled seemed to warm, and from a little more than fondness. “Lacroix’s demise meant the Camarilla needed to elect a new Prince, one who would be able to fix his mistakes and prevent the city from falling into chaos. And I’ve no doubt that you can see that they chose well.”

“We had heard that you have succeeded in de-escalating the violence since Sebastian’s Final Death,” Beckett remarked. “Quite the achievement. Though it isn’t why we’re here.”

“Of course. If this is regarding the whereabouts of Emma Ellwood and Claudia Dell, I’m very sorry to say that they haven’t been found yet. But when they are…”

She trailed off menacingly as she gazed into the distance, as if imagining what she was going to do to them once she got her hands on them, but Evie shook her head.

“Ellwood and Dell are dead, Therese. They were killed before they even got to Cairo.”

Therese’s gaze snapped back to Evie and it took more than a little effort to keep from flinching under the intensity of her piercing eyes.

“What do you mean ‘killed’?” she demanded before giving a little jerk of her head and reasserting her cool professionalism. “I believe a full explanation is required.”

They sat themselves down at Therese’s urging and Beckett explained. He had clearly put some thought into avoiding the particular details of their story; namely Jacob, her father, and their reasons for being in Northampton. So far as Therese knew, they had been there for some research purposes and were supposed to have met with a contact in the cemetery, and it was their home that Manse and Cruise had burned down rather than Evie’s childhood home.

If she sensed that Beckett wasn’t being entirely honest, Therese didn’t bring it up. Instead she looked displeased. And a little worried.

“Well, while it pleases me to know that Emma didn’t betray me, that doesn’t bring us any closer to stopping these Kindred… Manse and Cruise…”

She said the names slowly, as if she was trying to recall them or sear them into her mind.

“So you don’t know them?” Evie asked, at least making an effort to keep the desperate edge out of her voice.

Therese contemplated for a moment and then shook her head.

“I know only that Victoria Manse is a rather prominent Kindred in Leicester, and where she is found, Delilah Cruise is rarely far. But why they’re targeting you… That eludes me. And I don’t like that.” She propped her elbows on the desk and rested her chin on top of her hands. “I’ll speak with my contacts and see what I can learn. And believe me, I intend to learn as much as I can. No one slights me and lives to tell.”

The cold menace in her voice and the flashing of her eyes more than lived up to that promise. But then it softened. Only by a fraction so small it was microscopic, but Evie was pretty good at noticing even the slightest changes in expressions. It was a skill she’d learned to cultivate young.

“In the meantime, you are both welcome in my domain and I offer to you my personal protection. Any who may harm or hinder you will be dealt with, this I swear.” She paused and then added, “if you have need of information or weapons, speak with my agent, Mercurio. I imagine you will know where to find him, Evie.”

She nodded, perking up immediately at his mention. Mercurio was the only person she had fully trusted during the Blood Hunt, and he had more than lived up to that trust when he provided weapons, information on the Venture Tower, and, after she returned from Chinatown badly wounded and nearly starving, had let her feed from his wrist before securing some blood bags for her.

The fact that he was alive and serving as Therese’s agent meant that he had either avoided suspicion or the Camarilla had decided to let it be and focus on more pressing concerns.

Either way, she was itching to go see him, so it was a little disheartening that Beckett wanted to head Downtown.

“I need to catch up with Damsel, get a feel for the situation here in LA from eyes that aren’t focused solely on the big picture,” he explained. “Besides, would it really hurt for you to reconnect with the Anarchs?”

“It might,” she muttered, thumbing the Tarulfang hanging around her neck.

Truth be told, she still found herself worrying that they might be angry at her for taking off after Lacroix’s death, even if Velvet had said otherwise at the hearing. She’d kickstarted their chance to take LA back from the Camarilla and then ran off. It didn’t help that she’d flipped off Nines right as she left, when he’d (inadvertently) asked for her help.

 _We could really use someone like you_.

Even now, his wording prickled at her temper and made her feel a bit sick, and that made her want to go see Mercurio over the Anarchs even more. And she even said so to Beckett.

“Look, the apartments are Elysium. And they’re basically right behind the Asylum. And Santa Monica is way safer than Downtown,” she pointed out. “Besides, I can’t be around you _all_ the time. It’d drive both of us mad. I promise, I won’t do anything stupid or run off anywhere, and if anything happens, I’ll go straight to Therese. I _promise_.”

Beckett held up his hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright,” he sighed, shaking his head. “But I’m ordering you now, as your sire: you stay in Santa Monica, you don’t go looking for trouble, and if you think for even a _second_ that you might be in trouble, you go straight to Therese and call me. Got it?”

She nodded, her face the absolute picture of seriousness, and he walked her to the apartments before setting off for Downtown.

[]

“Well look who it is,” Mercurio said with a grin when he realised who was standing at his door. He opened his arms and Evie surged forwards, throwing her arms around him. He laughed, hugging her back and ruffling her hair affectionately. “It’s good to see you too, ya little nuisance.

“Therese said you might stop by,” he said as he eased her away. “C’mon in, tell me what you need.”

She followed him into the apartment and they sat themselves down on the couch.

“Got all the bloodstains out, then?” she joked, picking a little at the fabric.

“Sure. Believe it or not, I know a few things about cleaning,” he chuckled. “So kiddo, I’ll admit. I’m surprised to see you back so soon.”

She shook her head.

“No offense, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be,” she sighed. “I take it you’ve heard about all the crap that happened in Cairo?”

“Yeah I heard. Assamites. Dunno who you pissed off kid, I’d tell you if I could guess. The Camarilla decided to overlook that mess with Lacroix after all. Said that he was a fuck up who betrayed everyone and that you were being used by the Anarchs.” He shook his head. “It’s fucking crazy.”

“No kidding.” She leaned back against the couch and thumbed the Tarulfang. “We ran into some Kindred in the UK. Victoria Manse and Delilah Cruise. They tried to kill me and Beckett, and claimed they killed and replaced Ellwood and Dell. And what’s more… My dad…”

She hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Mercurio, she did. He was the only other person in this city who had proved he could be trusted. It was just… The idea of her father being a ghoul for her whole life was disturbing. 

But Mercurio has risked everything when he helped her during the Blood Hunt. He deserved to know the truth.

So she explained everything. Her father’s abuse, her brother’s murder, how she had shot him, and Beckett’s theory that he might have been in the employ of a powerful Kindred who wanted revenge for the loss of their asset. And if anyone could find out who that Kindred was, it was Mercurio.

He nodded.

“I don’t know a ghoul by that name, but I’ll look into it,” he promised. “Got some contacts out that way who could confirm things real quick. And speaking of contacts… Your pal Knox was here a while back.”

“Knox was here?” she asked in surprise. 

It had been a long time since she’d last seen him. Not since she’d persuaded him to retrieving that book from the Kuei Jin, the one Beckett had asked for.

“Yeah. Turns out your pal, Heather, she was looking for you, so she went to Knox. He said he’d look into it and get back to her,” he explained.

“So he came to you to ask?”

“No, he came to me when _she_ disappeared,” he said gravely. “Said he went by the apartment a few nights later and she wasn’t there, and she’s not been back since. No signs of a struggle, no note. Ain’t even been back to school from what anyone can tell. Just poof. Gone. If I’d’ve known how to contact you, I’d have let you know.”

Evie’s heart took a swan dive. 

Heather was gone? Vanished? Immediately her mind leapt to the worst conclusions. That some Kindred or the Kuei-Jin had found out about her and enacted their revenge against Evie on her instead. A more rational part reasoned that maybe she’d simply left to try and find Evie, but it was drowned out by the logic that not even former-bounty-hunter Knox had been able to track her down.

So she leapt to her feet.

“I need to head back to my old haven,” she insisted. “Maybe Knox missed something.”

“Kiddo-”

“Don’t,” she snapped. “I need to look for myself. Thanks for telling me Mercurio, I’ll see you around.”

And before he could even try to stop her, she was out the door and sprinting for the front doors. Out in the street it had begun to rain again, in true Santa Monica fashion, and she raced for the alley between the apartments and the pawnshop, where she knew she would find the door leading up to the apartments where she and Heather had lived together.

She didn’t care about the strange looks she received from passersby, just skidded around the corner, practically leaping over the homeless man who was huddled up on the floor, and wrenched the door open.

Up the flight of stairs, to the very top of the building, and there she was. A brass _508_ was nailed to the door, and suddenly she found herself paralysed. The rush of adrenaline from learning about Heather’s disappearance was beginning to fade in favour of a gnawing anxiety.

What if Heather _was_ still there and Knox had screwed up or lied? What if Mercurio was tricking her, trying to help in some roundabout way to reunite ghoul and domitor? 

Both were so very unlikely, and yet she feared barging in to find Heather who would start yelling at her for disappearing, for running away without a word, for being so ungrateful for everything she had done for her in the time that they’d lived together. It was so very out-of-character for Heather, but surely not impossible. Not with the way Evie had left.

Eventually, her need to know for certain that Heather was safe overrode her anxiety and Evie placed her hand on the knob and pushed the door open.

It was like nothing had changed. Like she was coming home from a long night’s work, racing all over the city on behalf of some Kindred with an hour of seniority over her. The only real difference was the coating of dust on everything, the fact that the Deb of Night was already chatting with her audience as she entered, and Heather’s absence.

It was as Mercurio had said. There was no sign of her. No blood or broken furniture that might indicate a struggle. Even the laptop seemed untouched, plugged into the wall with a notification for a new email.

Evie made her way over and typed in her old password. The laptop accepted it and in the background, Deb welcomed a new caller onto the show.

Then it struck Evie like a bolt of lightning. Why would the radio be playing in an abandoned apartment?

“ _So caller, what’s keeping you up tonight?_ ” Deb asked as Evie slowly straightened up and reached into her pocket, as if to pull out her phone.

“ _Well I’ve got this girl on my mind, Deb,_ ” a voice purred, one Evie didn’t recognise. It was definitely a woman’s though.

“ _Oh I see. What’s this lucky lady’s name, caller, and what’s got her running through your mind?_ ”

“ _Well... Her name is..._ _Evie._ ”

No sooner than the woman on the radio said the name, Evie's instincts screamed:

**_DUCK!_ **

She obeyed as a bolt of fire whizzed over her head and struck the wall behind her. The wallpaper instantly caught, and the flames began to work their way over the wall. But Evie wasn’t paying attention to that. Her eyes were fixed solely on the lone figure of Delilah Cruise standing before her, a long thin blade in one hand, and the other one open with a long, bloody cut down the palm.

She was smiling cruelly.

“Hello Evelyn. Fancy meeting you here,” she mocked before lunging. 

Evie seized the laptop before rolling forwards, ducking out of the path of the blade. She unsheathed her talons and the Beast stirred, though not before she slashed at the back of Delilah’s knees.

Delilah cursed and pulled away, but Evie hadn’t cut deeply enough to immobilise her. She spun the blade in her hand as she raised her bleeding palm. She was muttering under her breath and a split second later, Evie realised she was casting a spell. So she did the first thing that came to mind.

The laptop hit Delilah square in the face and she cried out, firmly interrupting her casting. The device itself almost seemed to explode as plastic keys flew across across the room. The screen cracked, as did the casing when it hit the floor, and Delilah was bleeding.

With a snarl, she lunged again with the blade and it nicked Evie’s right arm. The cut was so shallow that she should have been able to shrug it off like it was nothing, and yet she screamed like Delilah had taken the whole thing off. The Beast roused and woke, and in the brief few seconds of the encounter, the fire had spread over the wall and smoke covered the ceiling. Immediately it began to howl, urging for Evie to escape by any means necessary.

She thrust down the urge. She’d run once she ensured that Delilah couldn’t do the same.

Somehow Delilah seemed unphased by the flames and had the audacity to look smug as she flipped the blade in her hand, as if to prove her easy mastery of the weapon. 

So Evie took advantage of that, and mid-flip, she lunged for Delilah’s wrist and sunk her talons into her wrist.

It was Delilah’s turn to scream as sharp, protean claws crushed the bones in her wrist, forcing her to drop the poisoned blade. With her freehand, Evie slashed at the back of Delilah’s knees, neatly slicing through her hamstrings. She’d have to thank Beckett for the inspiration for that move when she saw him later.

When. Not if. Because Delilah was going to burn alone in this fire, and Evie was going to escape, and that was final.

She released Delilah and leapt to her feet, then made for the door before realising it was covered in flames, barring her only exit. At her feet, Delilah started laughing.

“Did you really think I was going to make it that easy this time?” she wheezed, rolling onto her side to sneer at Evie. “You’ll die in this fire, girl, and you’ll have only yourself to blame!”

Evie glared at her and seized her by the front of her shirt.

“Why do you want me dead?!” she demanded. “I’ve done nothing to you, or Victoria!”

“It’s not us you wronged, you little monster,” Delilah hissed. “But don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough. I’m sure _Therese_ will have no trouble finding all the answers. And it won’t save you. Or your mongrel Noddist friend!”

The Beast forgot its terror briefly to snarl and urged Evie to slam her fist into Delilah’s head. And she complied.

“Don’t you _dare_ call him that!” she yelled as the heat of the flames pressed down on her and Delilah’s vitae began to leak over her hand from the dent in the side of her skull.

But Delilah just laughed.

“Oh, do you _care_ about him? It’s a shame that he’ll get tired of you eventually. All you do is hold him back after all,” she taunted. 

“Shut up!”

“There’s a reason no one loves you, you pathetic little brat,” Delilah cackled. “Look at you. You were a horrible little monster even before you were Embraced. Always taking everything you were ever given for granted. Why, look at your father. And your _brother_ -”

“Shut up, _shut up, SHUT UP_!”

Delilah’s head caved in under the force of Evie’s blows, and she began to break down into ash, still sneering, still mocking. The very image of it was etched into Evie’s mind, and later Evie would wonder if it was intentional. It didn’t matter. Delilah was dead and Evie was surrounded by fire. She could hear screaming from downstairs and the thunder of footsteps as the building’s other occupants fled for their lives.

If only she could do the same…

Then she registered the wetness on her hand and she looked down.

The tiny wound that Delilah had inflicted had somehow opened into a considerable gash, and the edges of it were tinged black as blood trickled down her arm. But more than that, she was sweating, and more profusely than she ought to be. It was like… It was like her very blood was on fire.

She clocked the sigil drawn into the floor a second too late as the pain exploded and she screamed. The Beast was screaming too, urging her for the only viable exit left available to her.

The windows exploded outward, and Evie hit the tarmac hard, bleeding, sore, and barely aware of her surroundings. If it hadn’t been for the chaos caused by the fire, someone surely would have noticed her. 

As it was, the confusion had people too distracted and she managed to upright herself quickly enough to hobble for an alley before anyone could spot her. 

Once she was out of sight, she leant up against the wall of the alley and a dry, cracked sob escaped her throat as she clutched her wounded arm. The wound still stung horribly and wept openly. Any blood she tried to use to heal it just bled away.

“Damn it,” she sobbed, tightening her grip over the wound.

She righted herself and continued her agonised hobble towards the Asylum. What she wouldn’t give for a blood bag right now. Maybe Therese would have some spare. Or maybe she could go scare Vandal into giving her some first. In her current state, she wasn’t in the mood for him yanking her chain over Lilly.

But she had promised Beckett that if she got into trouble, she would go straight to Therese. She had to keep her promise.

So to the Asylum she went. No one seemed to notice or even care that she was bleeding and covered in ash. She was practically invisible in the crowd and if she’d had more of a mind, she might have questioned it. Instead she just punched the elevator button and shuffled herself inside.

She just had to stand long enough to reach the office. Then she could rest.

Except she never got the chance.

When she pushed open the office door, Therese was waiting for her. And she was pointing a revolver squarely at the space between Evie’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your support on this project of mine, I'm really glad people are enjoying it ^^


	11. Anarchy and Delusion

The Last Round was brimming with activity between the young Kindred who had clearly been feeding on the high and inebriated kine present in the bar, and the pounding music thumping away in the background. Beckett made his way through the crowd and nodded curtly at the fellow Gangrel standing on guard at the stairs leading to the dive’s upper level.

“Well look who it is,” Skelter snorted. “Where’s the kid? Thought she’d be with you.”

“She wanted to visit a friend in Santa Monica. I take it Damsel’s here?”

Skelter jerked his head.

“Upstairs, as always. Kid like the gift?”

“Wears it all the time. I’d be interested to hear how you came to have a Tarulfang in the first place.”

He just got waved off, and so he headed up the stairs. 

Damsel was sitting at her usual table and Beckett had barely reached the top of the steps before she snarled, leant so far over the railing beside her that her feet left the ground and her beret nearly fell off, and yelled, “KEEP IT THE FUCK DOWN YOU LITTLE SHITS, I’M GETTING A FUCKING MIGRAINE!”

“GO FUCK YOURSELF MOM!” a chorus of voices shouted back and she rolled her eyes as she righted herself up.

“That’s what I get for being Den Mother around here, huh?” she snorted as she turned to Beckett with a grin. “Good to see you, B. Didn’t think you’d be walking back through the door so fast though. ‘Specially with that Sarcophagus crap.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but as it so happens I had a question that needs answering.” 

He moved over to Damsel’s table and settled himself down, setting his satchel on the chair beside him. Damsel sat herself opposite, looking a little curious as she did so. It seemed that she had clocked Evie’s absence.

“So where’s Cammie? When I heard you’d pretty much adopted her, I figured she’d be following you about. Or is she still playing ‘little miss independent?’”

She air-quoted with her fingers at that last bit, and Beckett frowned.

“She’s visiting a friend in Santa Monica,” he said coolly. “But she is the reason I’m here.”

“Oh?”

He nodded, then stared Damsel down sternly.

“What were you thinking, talking her into spying on Lacroix for the Anarchs?”

Whatever Damsel had expected, it clearly hadn’t been that. And she clearly didn’t care for the accusatory tone that Beckett had used as she visibly bristled and scowled at him.

“I didn’t talk her into it, she practically volunteered-”

“Because she wanted to help, not because she understood what was being asked of her. She’s a _child_ , Damsel. You had no right to-”

“Better that she was actually doing something unlike the rest of the Fledglings who piss about in here,” she snarled. “Besides she had options, Beckett. She didn’t _have_ to go and keep cozy with Lacroix if she really didn’t want to.”

Beckett could feel the Beast rear up at the bars of its cage, hissing and snarling protectively, urging him to lunge across the table at her.

“Really? Because from the way Evie tells it, you egged her on. Told her that you didn’t _need_ another Fledgling pissing about and not getting things done,” he countered, keeping a careful handle on the Beast lest he lose control. “If she’d told you where you could stick your ‘suggestion’, how welcome would you have made her feel? Would she have _wanted_ to stick around, or would she have found more welcome back at the Ivory Tower?”

Damsel slammed a hand down on the table with her trademark snarl on her face, her grey eyes burning with fury, and it was clear her own restraint was failing her.

“If she couldn’t take that, then she deserves to be given a fucking cape!”

“SHUT UP, BOTH OF YOU!”

Both Beckett and Damsel jumped out of their skin and looked around to see none other than Nines Rodriguez himself sitting a few tables over. He’d been lounging in his seat, feet on the table with a cigarette pinched between his teeth. Now he had risen and was making his way over with a thunderous look on his face.

“Nines, what the-”

“I said shut it, Damsel. You know Beckett’s right, and that shit you’re spouting isn’t fair,” he growled. “Now get over it and admit that we fucked that kid over just like Lacroix did. You two bitching at each other is doing my head in.”

Beckett raised a brow at Nines.

“It sounds like you have an opinion in all of this, Mr Rodriguez,” he remarked.

Nines scoffed and sat himself down. 

“Yeah I got some opinions. And drop that ‘Mister’ crap, it ain’t needed here. Nines’ll do.”

Beckett nodded.

“Good. Now let’s be real. The kid didn’t wanna come here cuz she thinks we’ll be mad at her. Well next time you see her, tell her we’re not. I get it. She was sick of all the political crap and wanted out.” He shook his head and stared off into the distance. “I don’t blame her for being pissed with me. I tried dragging her back into it.”

“She told me as much.”

“Course she did.” Nines paused and heaved a sigh. “Y’know, I told her to square things up with Lacroix and not give him the time of night when she’d done what he wanted. Did she at least tell you why she stuck with him long enough for Damsel to come up with her harebrained scheme?”

“Hold the fuck up, Nines-!”

“She didn’t want to,” Beckett cut over, earning a vicious glare from Damsel. “Sebastian wanted to send her to the Elizabeth Dane, but she told him that the warehouse job was the deal and she was done taking his orders. So he Dominated her into going. Then, when he sent her to see Grout, she refused again. And so he Dominated her again. Then when she refused to go to the museum, he decided that she wasn’t useful anymore and sent her away. That, I believe, is when you ‘suggested’ she get close to him for the Anarchs, Damsel.”

Damsel’s glare fell in an instant and her mouth hung open for a few seconds. Nines’ eyes went wide, and then as expected, both Brujah snarled in absolute fury.

“WHAT A FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT, DOMINATING A FUCKING KID INTO DOING HIS DIRTY WORK!” Damsel roared as she leapt to her feet and slammed her hands down on the table. “IF HE WASN’T ASH ALREADY, I’D PULL OUT HIS INTESTINES, TAKE HIM TO A PARK, AND USE HIS POMPOUS ASS AS A MEAT TOBOGGAN! THAT FUCKING CAPE BITCH! PIECE OF- OF A... WHORE’S ASSWIPE!”

She quickly stopped speaking in complete sentences and defaulted to screaming whatever insults she could think up. It was, however, the indentations her fingertips left in the tabletop that surprised Beckett far more than the obscenities that started flying from her mouth. Those were common. She wasn’t prone to actually causing physical damage she didn’t intend to cause.

After nearly a full minute of Damsel verbally abusing the deceased Prince, someone downstairs yelled, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Damsel yelled back over the railing.

“EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Nines finally roared, and almost immediately every soul in the building fell absolutely silent, even Damsel, leaving on the music booming over the speakers. 

When he finally spoke again, it was quiet but the anger was so very palpable.

“Why the fuck am I even surprised that he Dominated her into doing shit for him?” he growled. “Kid never showed any interest in helping out Lacroix when she was here. Why the fuck didn’t I see it sooner?”

“You’ve been busy as shit Nines,” Damsel said hoarsely. “The rest of us shoulda called it. Its what Ventrue do when they don’t get their way. ‘Don’t wanna follow my orders? Okay, I’ll just force you to.’ What a-”

She dissolved into mumbling more obscenities under her breath, lips always twitching with the urge to snarl. It became obvious that she wasn’t particularly inclined for further conversation, so Beckett turned back to Nines.

“So. I’ve heard the violence has de-escalated recently, or at least that’s what the new Prince tells me,” he said evenly. “What’s the Anarch perspective of things-?”

“Helloooooo!”

Nines never got to answer as Jeanette Voerman trotted over. Or at least, Beckett presumed she could only be Jeanette. Aside from the drastic difference of taste in clothes, makeup, and hairstyles, she was Therese’s spitting image. Which meant…

The bottom of his stomach dropped out.

It meant that, effectively, Therese was also here Downtown rather than in Santa Monica where she could help Evie if something happened.

He forced himself to remain calm and not say anything about it, however. Evie had been quite clear that the sisters didn’t want anyone to know about their being split personalities, and that they had been very clear that they would kill to keep their secret. There was no sense in making an enemy of them now. 

“Hey Jennie,” Nines greeted. “How’s things with the Queen bitch?”

“Oh, you’d love to hear all about that, wouldn’t you?” she giggled as she perched herself on the edge of the table. “Sorry, but I’m not here for a tactics meeting. I’m here-” she turned to Beckett and pointed at him “-to talk to you!”

He blinked.

“I see. I don’t believe we’ve met, Miss Voerman,” he said. “Evie’s told me quite a bit about you.”

“She has? Ooh, only good things I hope,” she said happily, twiddling one of her pigtails with her finger. “I’ve missed Duckling so much. It’s a shame I wasn’t at the club when you two stopped by. I’d have _loved_ to get a chance to show her some fun on the dance floor.

“But anyway. Duckling is why I’m here! Therese actually _wanted me_ to talk to you! It’s about our… little problem.”

Nines frowned and glanced between Beckett and Jeanette.

“Problem? Is this about that Assamite nonsense?”

Beckett hesitated. He trusted Damsel, and Nines had seemed very genuine in how Evie had been treated, by the Anarchs as well as the Camarilla. If they knew about the trouble they’d been having with this mystery adversary, maybe they would provide some assistance. Maybe.

So he explained, keeping Evie’s more private details to himself, but otherwise gave them about as thorough an explanation as he had given Therese.

“So someone really wants the Kid dead.” Nines shook his head. “Fuck, this is messed up.”

“Yes, well. We finally have a name for you!” Jeanette said, a little too happily. She clapped her hands together. “You see, Victoria Manse is the childe and 'regent' to the Prince of Leicester, and Delilah Cruise is his _adopted_ childe- well, she’s one of them. And she’s one of the few Tremere to never be bonded to the Pyramid! So I asked Bertram to do a little digging, and it turns out that the Prince of Leicester and his most trusted childer have all been very busy lately. Not even Victoria’s had the time to rule the city in his stead! Another of his childer’s had the job instead, Luciana I think-”

“And? The name, Jeanette?” Beckett asked, a little irritably.

“Ugh, don’t you have any sense of drama?” Jeanette pouted. “Ugh, fine. His name is Roy Byrne. He’s been the Prince of Leicester City in the UK for the last couple of centuries, but he tends to leave a lot of the work to his childer rather than do it himself. In fact-”

Beckett had tuned her out after she said the name.

Roy Byrne. Byrne.

His heart dropped even lower than his stomach. There was no way- What were the odds? Was it even possible?

“Hey, where are you going? I wasn’t done yet!”

Jeanette’s calls fell on death ears as Beckett vaulted over the railing and hit the ground running, forcing his way through the throng of fledglings and neonates who scrambled to be out of his path. He was stopped short at the door when a Kindred burst inside, yelling at the top of their lungs.

“The Prince of LA has called a new Blood Hunt!” they announced. “A boon for whoever brings the fledgling, Evie Byrne, to her Final Death!”

[]

Police scanners would be going crazy all night about the great white wolf bounding through Downtown LA with blood staining its forepaws, but they would never actually find it, as Beckett was now entering the Asylum in Santa Monica at a soldier’s march.

He’d seen the fire above the Pawnshop and knew immediately that Evie had to have been involved. Mostly because he had found a trail of her vitae, tainted by poison, leading from outside the pawnshop to the Asylum. Meaning she had at least kept her promise to go to Therese if anything had happened. How that led to Therese calling for another fucking Blood Hunt, he had no idea, but he was going to get to the bottom of it.

He punched the elevator button so hard that the plastic casing cracked and he couldn’t help but pace the tiny box as it rose upwards to Therese’s office. Much to his horror, he could smell blood and gunpowder before the elevator doors even opened.

Therese was standing before the wall-length portrait when he entered, with her arms folded over her chest. In one hand she held a revolver, and her suit had been ruffled and bloodied, but otherwise she seemed unhurt. But after the trick that Manse and Cruise had pulled, Beckett wasn’t prepared to accept that all was as it seemed. So he focused.

And true enough, the mask of Therese faltered and failed before him and he saw right through it.

The imposter turned slowly towards him. Beneath her disguise was a young woman with shoulder length red hair and bright green eyes that were framed with spectacles. She wore a flattering velvet dress with matching heels, and evening gloves that reached her upper arm. She then raised the gun and pointed it at him.

“Mr Beckett,” she greeted. “I regret that it’s come to this, but you’ve forced my hand.”

He glowered.

“Who are you?” he snarled. “Where’s Evie?”

‘Therese’ blinked and frowned.

“What are you talking about, Mr Beckett? I’m Prince Therese Voerman. We met earlier this-”

“Drop the shit right now, _Fledgling_. I know you’re not Therese, I can see that,” he spat. “Now tell me who you are and where Evie is. Right. Now.”

‘Therese’ still seemed a little perturbed, but quickly recomposed herself, finally dropping the mask so that Beckett didn’t have to focus to see the real her. The Fledgling gave him a rather scathing look that bordered on downright hatred, and he couldn’t help but wonder what he and Evie had done to 

“She’s gone. Not dead. Roy doesn’t want that just yet,” the Fledgling said mockingly. “But he’ll be so pleased to know that the plan went off without a hitch.

“I’m Heather, by the way. Heather Poe. I doubt Evie mentioned me.”

“She didn’t,” he growled. “Should she have?”

Heather laughed shrilly. 

“Of course she should have. She made me after all. I’m not surprised she didn’t tell you the story though. Evie never likes telling anyone anything.”

Beckett wasn’t sure what to think. For a moment he wondered if she was Malkavian, perhaps a childe of Therese or Jeanette who had been bought out by Roy and positioned to spout utter rubbish in order to distract him. But what she’d said, about Evie making her… 

He straightened up a little.

“Seeing as how I’m in the dark, why don’t you tell me your version of events, Heather? You’re clearly dying to.”

Heather regarded him curiously for a moment, then shrugged.

“Why not? There’s no harm. Besides, I wonder what you’ll think of your precious little childe once you learn about what she did to me.”

She lowered the gun and began to pace, and Beckett could tell she had been longing for such an opportunity to rant. He’d let her, for now. If she worked for Roy, she might know something that would confirm his theory.

“It all started back in October. I had been in a car-crash and was brought to the Santa Monica Clinic for emergency treatment, but it took forever for a doctor to actually come to treat me. And that wasn’t until _after_ Evie had showed up. I was lying on the table, dying, when she showed up. She played pretend back then, but now I can see how much of an act it was. The surprise on her face, the compassion, all of it. Fake. She just wanted a plaything. So she fed me her blood and made me.

“And when I came looking for her? Oh, she tried to act all innocent. ‘Oh I only wanted to save you’ she said. ‘I didn’t want anything else from you.’ Yet she still let me stay. Played pretend at being some innocent kid who just needed someone to look out for her. She still took from me, but never gave anything in return. She knew I needed the blood, but she never gave it, never _told me_ that I needed it. Maybe she wanted to see what would happen. Maybe she thought it would be funny to see what it did to me.”

The anger in her voice only grew as she went on, her face twisted into a snarl, and her grip on the revolver tightened.

“Not that it matters. Her little game got cut short when Lacroix betrayed her, and so she ran away. She left me alone and confused, not knowing what I was. What she was. What she had _done_ to me. And then they found me. Lisa, Roy, and the others. They took me in, fed me, taught me, made me more. And gave me the opportunity to finally repay Evie for _everything she took from me_!”

Beckett blinked as Heather finished on a shout, and a furious one at that. It was hard to tell how much of what she had said was true and how much had been lies that Roy and his childer had fed her to twist her perception of Evie. After all, none of this fit the Evie he knew.

Accidentally turning someone into a ghoul to save them from gruesome, life-threatening injuries? That sounded like Evie. Doing it for the sake of having a plaything to amuse oneself with? Not even a little.

He’d have to have a talk with her about keeping this from him, however.

“So exactly how is Roy planning to take everything from Evie, exactly? Why does he care about some Fledgling he’s never even met?” he asked, cocking his head to one side.

Heather scoffed.

“Never met? You don’t even know, do you? He’s Evie’s _father_. When she killed her mother, Roy was robbed of the love of his life and yet he loved Evie anyway. Raised her, gave her everything she could ever want, and how did she repay him? By-”

“By shooting him out of fear after he finished murdering her brother, I presume,” Beckett replied coolly, even as the Beast growled and paced its cage, urging him to rip her apart.

Heather blinked.

“What do you-?”

“Perhaps I know more than you realise, Fledgling. Probably more than you know.” He shook his head and began to pace. “And it’s very clear to me that you’re nothing more than a pawn that Roy is using against Evie. And once he has no further use for you, he’ll just get rid of you.”

“W-wha-? How _dare_ you!” she spluttered. She swiftly raised the gun again. “Roy would never-!”

“No doubt you were recruited specifically because of your ties to Evie,” he said, continuing to pace as if lecturing a class. “You were someone close to her, someone easy to manipulate. And now…” 

He removed his sunglasses, letting her take in his glowing red eyes, letting her realise she was dealing with a vampire much older and much more experienced than she was.

“Now they expect me to kill you so that when Evie finds out, she’ll be devastated and stop trusting me. She doesn’t trust the Anarchs, she certainly won’t trust Therese anymore now that you’ve attacked her when she came running here injured-”

“You’re right, she won’t! And she ran away again, so now-!”

“-the only person that Roy might know about, the last person she might consider truly trusting, is me. So have me kill you, and Evie loses the last bit of safety she has,” he concluded, watching Heather carefully. “You see? It all fits together nicely. If she finds out that I killed the girl she tried to save, she won’t trust me anymore. She has nothing and no one left. I’ll admit, I’ll be very surprised if Roy isn’t a Toreador. It’s an artful way to destroy someone; taking them apart piece by piece before finally killing them for good. Inspired.

“So you see, Heather. You weren’t supposed to survive after chasing Evie off. You were ordered to wait here, reveal yourself to me, and then die. So. Consider yourself the luckiest Kindred in all of LA. Because I’m done playing Roy’s games.”

Heather stared at him, arms locked as she kept the gun pointed at him. He could see her trembling, and the conflict in her eyes as she took in what he had said. And he could see the precise moment that she rejected it. 

He felt her presence wash over him, felt her trying so hard to overwhelm him with her very being, and it was so poorly trained that he shrugged it off as easily as breathing.

“Don’t waste your time trying to exert your will over me Fledgling. I’m older than you in more sense than one,” he snorted.

Heather’s scowl deepened, and he could see the aura of fear and desperation radiating off of her.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to shoot you instead-!”

She was cut short by Beckett seemingly flitting across the room at inhuman speeds and knocking the gun out of her hands before pinning her against the back wall of the office by the throat. Her eyes were wide with fear and he could see the aura emanating from her. Confusion, hatred, fear, despair… He could see the poison that Roy had fed this childe, and he felt sorry for her.

“It’s over, Heather. You’ve been lied to. And it’s time for you to accept that.”

At that moment the office door flew open so hard that it was nearly flung off of its hinges as Nines, Damsel, Skelter, and Jeanette all barged into the room. The former three had guns drawn, while Jeanette just trotted in behind.

All eyes fell on Beckett holding Heather against the wall and the discarded revolver lying on the ground.

“It’s alright,” he said conversationally, as if remarking on the weather. “This Fledgling just thought that impersonating a Prince and calling a Blood Hunt was a _good_ idea.”

“Does she-?”

“Yes Jeanette, she works for Roy. Where would you like her kept until Therese gets back?”

“We have a little space in the basement that should be perfect,” she said in a surprisingly stern tone. “I’ll keep her locked up nice and tight for Therese. Of course, she’ll need to be the one to call off the Blood Hunt. I would but I don’t have the ‘proper authority’.” 

Beckett nodded.

“Alright. In the meantime, I need to find out where Evie went,” he said, turning to the Anarchs, still holding Heather tightly by the upper arm. “Can you all get the word out about this? Make sure everyone knows the Blood Hunt is a sham that was called by this imposter.”

Nines and the others nodded.

“It’s the least we can do,” he said. “Just… let us know when you’ve got her. So we know she’s safe. Whatever we’ve done… we care about her, okay?”

Beckett hesitated, then nodded. He then handed Heather to Jeanette and departed the Asylum. He had to find Evie before she got too far.

[]

Getting into the Asylum undetected was easy. What Lisa thought would have been tricky was finding out where the Voermans had locked Heather up, but as it so happened they were busy arguing, as always.

“I can’t believe you let an imposter in here! Duckling could have been killed!”

“I didn’t let anyone in, Jeanette. You’re the one who insisted on running off to find Beckett at the Last Round. I said he would return soon enough and we could tell him then, but _no_ . You ran off, and I had no choice but to ensure you didn’t do anything that might threaten the fragile peace we’ve worked so hard to establish! We have a _phone_ , for Pete’s sake-!”

“We didn’t have Beckett’s number, because _you_ didn’t ask for it like I said you should! I didn’t just say it because I was trying to get him into bed-!”

“Oh please Jeanette, I _know_ you were trying to do exactly that.”

“Well I wouldn’t say no, but it was also important to be able to contact him is what I’m saying! And now Duckling’s missing, and she could be hurt!”

“Don’t act as if I am unconcerned, Jeanette. I extended my protection to Evie. For her to be attacked by an imposter pretending to be _me_ , in my- our club. It can’t be allowed.”

“So when are you going to get around to interrogating her, dear sister? She can’t sit in the basement all night and day.”

“Soon. We have most of the details, but first I need to be absolutely certain that the word is out that I never called for any Blood Hunt.”

Lisa didn’t need to hear anymore. The basement. She knew how to get down there. The Asylum had always extended its subterranean levels as an emergency haven to Kindred in need of a place to shelter for the day. Provided they could pay. She had used it herself when she last stayed in Santa Monica. Now that knowledge would pay off.

The Asylum’s basement was hardly luxurious. It was grey concrete walls and floors with simple fluorescent lights fixed into the ceiling. Not exactly glamorous, but that wasn’t the point. Regardless Lisa _hated_ the place. The last time she stayed here, she’d felt more like a prisoner than a guest. 

‘Seems the new Prince doesn’t think its worth splashing a little for her guests,’ she thought derisively. 

Not that it really mattered because the Kindred she was looking for at that very moment _was_ a prisoner. 

Heather sat defeatedly on the floor with chains around her wrists that were mounted to the wall. She wasn’t pinned there, she could still stand up and move around, she just couldn’t run away. That would make things much easier.

“Heather,” she hissed, and waited for the fledgling to look up before creeping out of the shadows towards her.

“Lisa!” she cried in relief. “You came!”

“Of course I did, darling,” Lisa said reassuringly, reaching into her coat pocket. “There’s still much to be done, and you have a role to play in it.”

“Oh Lisa, you have no idea what he’s like! Beckett, he- he tried to tell me that you and Roy and everyone were lying to me, and that I was, I was just a _pawn_ to all of you!” she sobbed.

“Shh, darling. It’s alright,” Lisa hushed, pulling out the clawed weapon. “You played your part beautifully. And now it’s time for your finale.”

Heather opened her mouth, clearly confused, but then she stopped and looked down at the long claws now buried in her abdomen. Her gaze lingered there a moment, and then turned upwards to Lisa who smiled at her sympathetically.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” she whispered, a red bloody tear dripping down her cheek. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

“Lisa, what-? Please, no-!”

“Hush darling. I promise, this will be worth it,” she whispered, leaning in closer and dragging the claws roughly downwards, tearing Heather’s dress. “It’s _her_ fault this had to happen. In another time… another life… I would give you everything you desire most.”

“Lisa…”

Lisa hushed her, then pressed a gentle kiss to Heather’s lips. 

“Go easy darling. We’ll make them pay. And it will be beautiful.”

By the time she was done with the awful task, all that remained were blood splatters, ashes, and deep gouges in the concrete where the claws had ripped through Heather. Not quite Protean exactly, but they’d be convincing enough to fuel the rumours.

She straightened up, wiped her tears from her eyes, pulled out her phone and began to photograph the scene, treating it almost like some kind of photoshoot. When she was done, they were uploaded to Schrecknet with the caption:

_All hail Beckett, saviour of the Prince of LA!_

[]

Hardestadt didn’t like having to deal with issues he’d already resolved, much less when those issues became bigger and more confusing. The Assamites were one thing, it wasn’t his business if someone wanted a fledgling dead. But to impersonate a Prince and call for a Blood Hunt - a Blood Hunt that lasted barely an hour before the real Prince rescinded it - made an impression. 

Combine that with the so-called peace that Therese had made with the Anarchs instead of simply stamping them out… The harm it could do to the Camarilla’s image was unthinkable.

So here he was, sitting in a mostly empty boardroom, save for Prince Roy’s presence, after yet another meeting concluded, and he rested his chin on the backs of his hands.

“For one Fledgling to cause the Camarilla this much trouble,” he muttered to himself. “Maybe I should reconsider having her executed.”

“Consider carefully, Founder,” Roy said serenely, tossing a cricket ball from one hand to the other. “Executing the fledgling could simply validate the belief that she is in fact some kind of threat. However, there are ways she could be handled discreetly… Which I would be more than happy to do so, on your word.”

Hardestadt paused and observed Roy for a long while.

Of all of those who had attended the meeting, Roy had been the most untroubled by the revelation of a fledgling posing as Prince Voerman with the use of Obfuscate, and seemed unsurprised by the rumours that Beckett, the Autarkis Noddist, had savagely murdered said fledgling in a fit of rage upon learning that she had attacked his childe. In fact… Roy had been untroubled by any of the incoming news regarding this fledgling, Evie, since the very beginning.

At the time, he had simply assumed that Roy was just sensible and wasn’t losing his head over the girl. But now...

Hardestadt rose from his seat and crossed to the bay windows looking out over the city below them. For a while the silence was filled only by the thud of the cricket ball passing from one hand to the other.

“Prince Roy. Are you the one targeting this fledgling?” he asked evenly, even as he allowed his presence to seep out over the room.

Roy didn’t even resist.

“Of course. I have a score to settle,” he replied smoothly. “Don’t worry. I don’t plan to do anything as grand as have a childe pose as a Prince again. That was just to frighten the girl into fleeing. Make her desperate. Make her reckless. With your permission, I can have her tidied up without any more fuss.”

Hardestadt paused. By all rights he ought to be furious with Roy, but the schemer in him couldn’t help but applaud him even a little. He’d puppeteered all of this under Hardestadt’s nose without him or anyone else realising it. Quite clever really.

“A word of warning, Roy,” he said slowly. “If any more schemes such as this are brought to my attention, I will have you executed.”

Roy simply looked at him expectantly.

“Otherwise, this is your problem to resolve.”

And Roy smiled.

“Of course, Founder. I appreciate your faith in my capabilities. And your discretion.”

Hardestadt didn’t bother to reply, just turned on heel and departed the room. 

He needed a good strong drink, he decided. A mortal topped up on a stiff beverage sounded absolutely wonderful right about now.


	12. Reunions

Two months ago, Beckett had been following a trail of blood leading through LA and beyond in search of a missing fledgling. Now he walked the streets of Santa Fe with his phone held to his ear as Okulos tapped away on his keyboard in the background.

“I just don’t get it,” Okulos growled on the other end of the phone. “According to what I’ve found, Roy has been around for a good few centuries. How could he possibly be her father?”

Beckett didn’t reply at first. He was too busy being caught up in his own thoughts, and besides, that tone meant that Okulos wasn’t expecting him to answer. He was just thinking out loud. 

“My Camarilla contacts tell me that he’s been the Prince of Leicester longer than either of us have been alive, and that in the last couple of centuries he’s taken to leaving the running of the city to his childer,” he continued. “But I find it hard to believe that he’s been using that time to figure out how to make knocking boots mean anything, let alone making it _work_.”

Again Beckett didn’t say anything as he turned a corner and narrowly avoided a collision with a pedestrian. He’d been in Santa Fe a few nights now, and a local Kindred had informed him that they hadn’t seen Evie, but another Kindred had. One looted bank vault later, he now had a meeting arranged to try and learn more about where she had gone. Then it was back to playing catch up.

“Are you even listening to me?” Okulos barked irritably.

“About you trying to figure out how Roy managed to get it up and working? Barely,” he replied dryly. “You’re really telling me that the USB had _nothing_ on it.”

Okulos scoffed and Beckett could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

“Just a whole lot of legal documents, like certificates of marriage, Evie’s birth certificate, essentially everything that proves he’s Evie’s father,” he grumbled. “It’s like the whole point of this thing was to rub your nose in it.”

“Somehow that wouldn’t surprise me.”

He hadn’t heard a peep from Roy’s agents or the Assamites since his confrontation with Heather, and while a few months ago it would have been a welcome change of pace, it was now an uncomfortable reminder that Evie was their target and he was, at most, just collateral damage. And that was why he needed to find her, ideally before they did. Even Roy couldn’t possibly predict where she’d run to in these circumstances…

Or at least Beckett really hoped that he couldn’t. In those first few hours, her only conceivable plan would have been to get as far away from LA as she could possibly get. Now, two months later, Beckett was struggling to figure out where she would go next. He was guessing that by now, her phone was lost, broken, or out of charge as she still wasn’t answering his calls and messages, and hadn’t attempted to contact him.

With any luck, she’d not heard any of the rumours coming out of California and the Schrecknet. If she had, there might well be another reason he’d not heard from her in the last couple of months.

The second night of his pursuit had barely begun when Okulos called and informed him that someone had posted photos of Heather after she’d apparently been brutally slain, and however had posted them claimed that he, Beckett, was her killer. The shots had gone viral and were quickly reposted over and over so quickly that the original post became impossible to locate. 

Okulos speculated that it had probably been deleted and the account disabled to prevent anyone from tracing the poster, and the one who had most likely murdered Heather.

Personally Beckett didn’t feel guilty about her Final Death. He hadn’t known her, and many Fledglings didn’t last their first decade thanks to their bad decisions or the indifference of their sires. It was nothing new, just an unfortunate truth of their existence that he’d accepted a long time ago. What concerned him more was Evie’s reaction to the news.

He didn’t believe that she had ghouled Heather intentionally. Considering her feelings on the Embrace, it was very out of character. But from what Heather had told him, it seemed more likely that Evie had indeed stumbled upon her accidentally and fed her in order to save her.

But at some point she had learned the truth of what her actions had caused, and she had decided to deliberately keep it from him. He’d need to scold her for that. If he had known about Heather, well… He wouldn’t have been _thrilled_ to bring her along, but at the very least she wouldn’t have been a weakness for Roy to exploit.

Too little too late, now he had to deal with the fallout. And it began with this meeting.

“You know what,” Okulos said with an air of resignation and finality, “I bet he’s a Cleaver, and all this shit is forged. He just married the kid’s mother when she was too young to know any better.”

“The Camarilla wouldn’t be happy if they learned one of their Princes was one slip away from a Masquerade Breach,” Beckett pointed out.

“Yeah, I know. But what other explanation is there?”

“Well… There is one.”

He had previously toyed with the idea during those nights spent tracking with only the most scant bits of information, and it wasn’t impossible. But it was also highly unlikely.

Okulos didn’t reply, just waited expectantly for him to explain so that he could tear a load of holes in his theory as he so enjoyed doing so.

“You said that Roy has a lot of childer, both sired and adopted by him. What if one of them diablerised him and took his place? Like Hardestadt did to his sire,” he explained. 

He heard Okulos suck air between his teeth and could picture him shaking his head.

“I doubt it somehow. Roy Byrne has always been fanatical about ‘family values’, and by all accounts, his childer are the same. They think of him as their father in every sense of the word.” He then scoffed in disgust and added, “some even theorise that there’s blood bonding involved. For a childe of his to diablerise and replace him-”

“They’d have to have overcome the blood bond, and the others would still recognise what they’d done,” he sighed, shaking his head. “It was just a thought.”

“Yeah, I know. All of this is fucked up,” Okulos replied. “You said you’re meeting a Kindred tonight?”

Beckett hummed in the affirmative. If he could have seen Okulos, he would have seen the knowing grin that the Nosferatu wore when he was one step ahead and he would have guessed that Okulos already knew exactly who he was meeting.

“On my way to meet them now. With any luck, they’ll have a new lead for me.”

“Hopefully it’s a good one. I’ll keep an eye open on my end, let you know if anything comes up. Good luck Beckett.”

He hung up the phone and continued on his way, eventually arriving at the designated meeting place. A children’s play park that was currently deserted and in a poor state of disrepair. A rusted slide, broken swings, and litter discarded all over the place, it was clear that it hadn’t been in use for some time. And that suited Beckett’s purpose perfectly.

So he waited, leaning against the fence that had been dented and warped in what had undoubtedly been a car accident. He checked his phone and, as usual, found it devoid of messages.

He didn’t know why he dialled Evie’s number when he knew he wouldn’t get an answer. Maybe because a small part of him hoped that she would actually pick up this time.

No such luck. It went straight through to voicemail. Again.

He stuffed the phone back into his pocket and looked up and down the road for any sign of his informant. The street, however, remained silent and deserted save for Beckett himself. So there he stayed, stiff and unmoving, and considering how he would punish the first Kindred he’d spoken to if it turned out that they had lied to him about this contact.

As if on cue, he heard it. The roaring of an engine that ripped through the night air, even at a distance, and it was accompanied by a loud screech. He looked up just in time to see a huge harpy eagle swooping down towards him, and he threw out an arm just in time for the bird to perch on instead of his head.

Kyra chirped and shuffled along his arm, nibbling at his ear affectionately as he gave her a scratch under the chin. 

“Well now I know who my contact is,” he chuckled, glancing up to see the headlights of an enormous motorbike roaring towards him from down the road.

It screeched to a halt and its very tall, very muscular rider, dismounted. 

Beckett straightened up from the fence as Tereza pulled off her helmet and shook out her long blonde hair, still wild and held back in its Viking-style braids. She was at least half a foot taller than he was, and she had Norse runes tattooed up her right arm. She wore biker leathers and a pair of shades that he knew shielded her inhuman yellow eyes, much like his own did, and her hair had numerous feathers fluttering amongst her braids.

It was clear that in life she had been a great beauty, but in death some supernatural essence seemed imbued into her very flesh, amplifying it to the point that it shocked many when they learned that she was, in fact, a Gangrel rather than a Toreador. Some members of the Clan of the Rose certainly envied the fact that some wandering, dirt-ridden loner had gotten to her before they did.

She faced him and smiled serenely before setting her helmet down on the seat of her bike and making her way over.

“Beckett,” she greeted in her accented English, holding her arms open as she approached. “It is so very good to see you again.”

“And you as well, Tereza. You’re as radiant as ever.”

She chuckled.

“You are very kind to say so.”

She leaned down and they exchanged a brief peck on the cheek and a fleeting embrace before parting.

“So. You have a childe now?” she said, cocking a brow mischievously.

“Adopted childe, yes. And I was informed that you’d seen her.”

Tereza simply smiled before moving to lean against the fence beside him, her hands folded in her lap, and he could detect the faint smell of motor oil and sandalwood wafting off of her.

“More than saw her. I met her while she was in the company of a fellow Gangrel. Jesse, I believe was his name,” she explained. 

Beckett blinked then frowned. The name was familiar to him, if only vaguely. Then it came to him. An ex-Sabbat turned Camarilla spy who helped Evie rid LA of the Sabbat in order to settle his debts with Lacroix. That was… not overly reassuring.

“It was a good thing that Okulos contacted me and provided details of the girl, Kære, or I would not have recognised her,” she continued. “She was uncooperative, as Okulos had said, but was more willing to listen once she learned that I was associated with you.”

She smiled knowingly.

“Jesse is now taking her to a Gather in the Carson National Forest. They will be waiting for us there.”

“A Gather?” Beckett couldn’t quite keep the disdain out of his voice.

He’d attended very few Gathers, and it wasn’t an accident. The purpose was for members of the Gangrel Clan to meet and exchange information with one another, to bring them up-to-date on internal matters. They were also preceded by the Rites; contests of strength and boasting that established the hierarchy of the Gather, and they could take nights to complete. Even if two Gangrel had previously met, they had to participate regardless, as it was believed that every meeting was unique and they were no longer the same individuals they were the last time they met.

In other words, the whole affair was tedious and time consuming, and not helpful to his goals, hence why he rarely attended. But he didn’t blame Tereza for pointing Evie in that direction. It was a place she would be safe even when staying in one place, and he doubted that even Roy could predict them attending a Gather. Most Kindred outside of the clan didn’t tend to know they even existed.

And going from that curl of her lip, Tereza had known exactly what she was doing. Okulos had definitely done more than give her a ‘few’ details. He wondered how much else he’d told her without mentioning it to him.

He sighed and shook his head.

“You know I hate these things.”

“I know, Kære. Which is why I sent them there,” she said with a roguish wink as she pushed off from the fence back towards her bike. “Come. We should get moving. The sooner we get there, the sooner your Little Cub will feel much better I think.”

He rolled his eyes and made to follow, shifting into the form of the white wolf. Tereza arched a brow at him.

“You still do not trust my driving?” she questioned with an air of mock offence. “I am hurt. I will have you know that I have not crashed once since you last rode behind me.”

He simply jerked his head and she laughed before putting her helmet on and revving the engine. The bike roared off into the night with the white wolf bounding alongside and an eagle soaring overhead.

[]

Evie hadn’t been sure what to expect before they arrived at the site of the Gather, but it was something vaguely like this. A number of tents had been erected in a camp set up along the shoreline of a vast lake. The ground was frozen solid, and there were patches of snow here and there, with a pine forest at their backs, stretching upwards as the ground sloped up into a mountain. 

Numerous Gangrel wandered the camp, many of them wearing very little and what they did wear was so worn and had been repaired so many times that there were more patches and original garment. Some had inhuman eyes and claw-like hands like Beckett, but others definitely seemed more… animalistic.

At the water’s edge a pair of them were wrestling in the shallows, and even from here she could see the one closest to her was gleaming with alligator-like scales, and during the brief second she caught sight of her face, her teeth seemed too large for her jaws and her nose just a little too flat. 

As another walked by, Evie spied a long cat’s tail uncurling from over the top of their jeans and began to swish back and forth as they walked. Others chewed at themselves, or licked their hands before running them through their hair, and one had the poor luck of others yelling ‘squirrel’ at any given moment which seemed to compel him to search for the imagined creature, much like a dog would.

Beckett had taught her a bit about being Gangrel, about the risks of frenzying too often, but she had imagined most were like him; careful not to frenzy so many times that they became less and less human. But the majority of those in attendance seemed not only proud of their features, but boasted about the number of frenzies they had endured for them to stick. Almost like it was some kind of trial by fire.

Frankly it made her uncomfortable, and if it hadn’t been Okulos’ reassurance that Tereza would find Beckett and bring him to the Gather, she would have left by now.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She couldn’t honestly say why she still had the damn thing when it didn’t even work anymore. It had been essentially crushed when she had hit the tarmac after jumping from the Pawnshop apartment window, and blood had leaked into the mechanisms, clogging them up and rendering the device beyond repair. So why even keep it?

The vain hope that maybe, by some miracle, one day she’d pull it out and find it in working order so she could call Beckett and he could come get her. It was pathetic, really.

There was a roar of admiration from some onlookers as the Alligator Gangrel grabbed her opponent and sunk those big teeth into the junction between his neck and shoulder, tearing through dead flesh and muscle and dragging him back into the water. The opposition thrashed, but she began to roll, preventing his escape. The water was stained crimson and the display went on for several minutes before it came to an abrupt halt. The opposition must have signalled his surrender, as the Alligator Gangrel released him and marched proudly back to shore, her face and front glistening with blood as her opponent hobbled in her wake. He was no missing a chunk out of his shoulder, and his arm was twisted unnaturally in its socket, yet he was grinning in delight as he and the victor exchanged pleasantries.

Evie had to look away and stare off into the distance or she might throw up at the sight of his mangled body.

It was at that moment that Jesse appeared from the gloom and paused at the edge of the lamplight - there were firepits here and there around the camp, but the general consensus was that too many fires around so many Kindred was an accident waiting to happen - where he glanced over to watch the Alligator and her opponent move off into the camp.

“It’ll only get worse,” he remarked, sitting himself down with a blood bag in each hand. “Only rule in a fight at a Gather is no killing each other. Short of that, anything’s allowed.”

“Great, sounds like fun,” Evie grumbled, taking the blood bag he offered. “Remind me why we decided this was a good idea?”

He shrugged.

“You tell me, Little Miss Paranoid,” he snorted. “You’re the one who looks over her shoulder every two seconds.”

“Considering what I’ve been through lately, I’d say it’s justified,” she retorted.

He shrugged and they sat in silence as they fed on the blood bags, watching the other Gangrel around the camp. Briefly, Evie could have sworn she caught sight of a horribly familiar face prowling the tents; dreadlocks and bright golden eyes with a malicious glint to them. Then she got a better look and realised that it wasn’t _him_ at all, but another Gangrel. Unlike her sire, who was white and whose dreads were ratty and matted, this Gangrel was Black, his dreads were neatly styled and held in a long ponytail, and he was grinning broadly as he animatedly told a story to a handful of fledglings, and she felt a small bit of relief unfurl in her chest.

‘He’s dead for sure,’ she reminded herself. ‘He got his head cut off in a room full of Kindred.’

And as terrified as she had been at the time, in the nights that followed it had been a _relief_. The quick spurt of vitae followed swiftly by the separated head and corpse swiftly crumbling to ash were a reminder that she was safe from him. That he could never harm her ever again. 

If only she could receive such a comfort in the face of the enemies she faced in recent nights.

“So… How well do you know Beckett, exactly?” Jesse asked, seemingly out of the blue.

Evie paused, brows twitching as if to frown but not quite going the whole way before she answered.

“I’ve been travelling with him since I left LA,” she explained with a shrug. “He offered to take me with him. Be my sire.”

“But how well do you _know_ him?”

This time she did frown and she gave Jesse a blunt look.

“Look Jesse, ask what you actually want to ask or don’t ask anything at all,” she said firmly. “I’m done with people who fish for answers.”

For a while Jesse said nothing and Evie took that as him having nothing further to say on the matter, so she turned her attention back to the group of fledglings being told a story. Funny that they were all varying degrees of older than she was, yet were still as new to this life as she was, and so were treated much the same as she was. Like children who needed a firm hand when they got too rowdy. The Kindred telling the story was grinning from ear to ear and moved with an almost childish animation as he really got into it. She didn’t really understand what the story was about, but he was clearly having a blast recalling it.

“Do you remember what I told you?” Jesse finally asked after several minutes. “Back at Hazel’s church?”

She turned to him and frowned at him quizzically.

“End of the day, only person you can trust is yourself. Yet you put an awful lot of trust in Beckett.”

Her frown transformed into a scowl and she bristled at the suggested accusation lobbied not at her, but at Beckett.

“That’s because he’s _earned_ my trust. Unlike the rest of you.”

“Yeah, and I’m not saying don’t trust him at all, I’m just saying…” He leaned forwards to rest an elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, staring off vaguely into the distance. “Don’t go believing he could never do anything wrong. Otherwise you’re just setting yourself up for the fall.”

“I don’t believe that,” Evie snapped, leaping to her feet. “Beckett’s the only person I’ve been able to count on this entire time.”

“Doesn’t mean he can’t fuck up,” he pointed out bluntly. “Sooner or later he’ll do something you don’t like, whether he means to or not, and then what’ll you do?”

He shrugged idly.

“I said what I said. Now you only have yourself to blame when he disappoints you."

Evie opened her mouth to argue further but was interrupted by an eagle screech as a large grey and white eagle swooped overhead. Evie stared at the bird as it looped back around, coming in close, and then she recognised it.

It was Kyra, the eagle that had accompanied Tereza. Which meant-!

“Evie!”

A dry, cracked sob escaped her at the sight of Beckett walking out of the gloom towards the camp, looking about as well as he had when she’d last seen him in Santa Monica, which was better than how she felt. She didn’t pay Tereza any mind, even as she walked at Beckett’s side, and instead made a beeline straight for him.

Beckett laughed as he caught her mid-jump and her limbs wrapped around him tightly with her face pressed into his shoulder. She could feel it reverberating in his chest and that in itself was a comfort because it was confirmation that this was _real_ , and he was _here_ , and that meant she was safe now. It helped that he hugged her back firmly, a physical reassurance that he was here and he was going to protect her however he could. And that was what mattered.

Finally, she allowed herself to drop back to the floor, and Beckett’s hands moved from her back over her shoulders as he gazed down at her with a fond grin.

“Well, you still have all your limbs intact. That’s something,” he chuckled.

Evie just buried her face into his front, breathing in deep. A vague musk clung to him, reminiscent to that of animal fur, which was largely masked by an earthy aroma and a hint of sandalwood. One hand rested between her shoulder blades and the other on the top of her head, and she was completely unaware of the snorts and sideways glances she was receiving from the other Gangrel in the camp. Beckett, on the other hand, just ignored them.

“The cub is happy to be back amongst her pack, I see,” Tereza chuckled, clapping a hand over Beckett’s shoulder before making her way into the camp proper. “We can talk more another time.”

She walked away, leaving the pair to themselves and Evie took a few moments to pull away.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I- I was at my old haven when Delilah attacked me, and then when I went to Therese like I said I would she pulled a _gun_ on me, so I ran and then other Kindred started attacking me out of nowhere so I just ran and I didn’t know what to and my phone was broken and-”

“Shh, it’s alright,” he hushed, stealing a quick glance back in the direction of the camp. “I can imagine the last few weeks have been rough, but this isn’t the place. We should speak elsewhere.”

He steered her away to walk along the lakeside out of earshot of any onlookers. Evie kept close to his side and he kept an arm around her shoulders as they walked. And only once they were a decent distance from the camp did he speak.

“It wasn’t Therese who attacked you,” he explained. “It was another agent, like Manse and Cruise. She used Obfuscate to disguise herself as Therese while she and her sister was passing on some information to me.”

Evie came to an abrupt halt, staring at him in disbelief.

“She- You’re kidding me.”

She ran a hand through her hair, shaking her head, not because she didn’t believe him but because she couldn’t believe that the idea hadn’t occurred to her in the first place. She knew that Manse and Cruise could disguise themselves in such a fashion, why hadn’t she just _assumed_ that the Therese who attacked her wasn’t Therese at all?

Because she didn’t know who she could trust anymore. She had too many enemies, some with blades and some with smiles, Rosa had said. Only the Lone Wolf and the Man on the Couch could be trusted. 

And was she really wrong to mistrust Therese? If she had chosen to stay in LA and side with the Anarchs, helped to chase the Camarilla out of the city and robbed her of the chance to become Prince, would Therese still extend such offers of protection? Would she still be so willing to help Evie if it was asked of her?

Probably not. If Evie had aligned with the Anarchs, then sooner or later, she would have become a threat to Therese’s power, and then Therese would do whatever it took to remove her from play, whether by doing what she’d done to Tung or via outright elimination.

At the end of the day, Therese was another power player. It just made sense not to trust her, whether she was involved or not.

Beckett didn’t remark on Evie’s silence, letting the perfect opportunity for a sly remark slip by in favour of continuing to walk along beside her.

“There is something I need to tell you, Evie,” he continued after several minutes. “The information Jeanette was passing to me… It was the name of the one who’s trying to kill you. I need to know if you’re… familiar with this person.”

He sounded truly hesitant for once; the last time he’d sounded like that had been when he first approached her about not opening the sarcophagus. A mixture of uncertainty and concern that set her on edge.

“Who is it?” she asked, dread already rising in her stomach, pressing at the walls of her chest. She was half-certain that her body was preparing to be sick again, like when she’d first arrived in LA.

“...His name is Roy. Roy Byrne.”

[]

Her reaction shouldn’t have shocked Beckett. He’d expected it, thought he’d be prepared for it, but he still found himself caught off guard by the scream that erupted from her as she crumbled to the ground in a heap of tears where she trembled from head to toe, the picture of absolute despair and pure terror packed together into the form of a skinny teenage girl. 

Even as he held her against his chest, trying to offer some form of comfort, the screams just wouldn’t stop tearing themselves from her throat as she sobbed uncontrollably, shaking her head and just barely choking between sobs, “it’s not, it can’t be!” over and over again, barely coherent, but the general sentiment was easy enough to understand.

It also confirmed his suspicions, much as he had hoped otherwise simply for her sake.

Now, as he knelt at the lake shore with the sobbing fledgling in his arms, he wondered about the things Evie had endured at Roy’s hands to elicit such a volatile reaction from her. He knew that he’d hit her, that he punished her for the smallest missteps and it helped Beckett to understand some of the ticks in her behaviour. Her fear when he raised his voice at her, the way she shrunk down when she felt threatened, the ways she picked up on even little emotional and social cues; all skills she had developed to survive this Kindred who was supposed to have been her father. 

His temper flared just thinking about it and the Beast snarled, demanding blood be split for the blood owed. He lashed the Beast firmly into submission. They’d consider their course of action in due time. First he just needed to get Evie through the horrifying revelation she was experiencing.

Though, if he was being honest with himself, comforting others wasn’t a skill he’d exactly cultivated over the centuries, least of all a teenage girl whose entire world was coming apart at the seams. Even his mortal life didn’t offer much in the way of experience, save for what little he remembered of his mother. Whenever he or his siblings came to her in tears because they had skinned their knees, or were being picked on, or had troubles of any magnitude, she would make tea, hold them close, and talk them through their emotional troubles.

Tea wasn’t an option, obviously, and he wasn’t very good at talking to people about their problems the way his mother had - not without blundering along logically and making things worse - so he held Evie close and hoped it would be enough.

It wouldn’t be, not for such a cataclysmic revelation, but he could hope.

By the time Evie finally cried herself out, another fight had started on the opposite shore and the shouting, splashing and roaring that echoed across the water mostly drowned out her sniffles.

“I’m sorry, Evie,” he murmured.

She just shook her head, pressing her face into his chest. What she said was so muffled, he didn’t understand a word of it, but he guessed it was along similar lines to what she’d been saying before. He didn’t blame her for not wanting to believe it.

“Why this?” she cried, pulling away abruptly and staring up at him pleadingly. “After all this time, why did it have to be _him_?!”

“I don’t know,” he said truthfully.

She shook her head and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, as if trying to stem the bloody tears. 

For a while neither of them spoke until she finally whispered, “...will it ever get any easier?”

He hesitated a moment, and then asked, “do you want the truth or the lie?”

“...Lie to me. Please.”

“Then yes. It does get easier. Remarkably so,” he said, clasping a hand over her shoulder. “We find Roy, kill him, and the world will go on, and things will only get better. I promise.”

A moment of silence passed between them, filled only with the distance sounds of the fight, before Evie finally lifted her head with a watery smile and said, “you liar.”

He smirked back at her.

“You asked for the lie,” he pointed out.

Evie just laughed and leaned back into him, arms hanging loosely around his middle. The hand on her shoulder moved to rest against her back, cradling her somewhat, as the his other hand found her’s and wrapped over her fingers with a surprising gentleness.

“We’ll fix this,” he promised.

Evie shook her head, still smiling slightly.

“We can’t. You said he’s a Prince. The Camarilla will care more about him being happy than me being safe,” she pointed out. “We kill him, and I’m a Prince Killer for real, and you know the Ivory Tower won’t like that.

“There’s no fixing this.”

Whatever he had expected from Evie, it wasn’t this. This calm acceptance that this was the way things were. That if Roy, a Camarilla Prince, wanted her dead then there really was nothing to be done that didn’t invoke the wrath of the Inner Circle. He’d expected anger and rage, a determination to put a stop to Roy’s games... 

He’d expected an Anarch, and if it had been someone else suffering at Roy’s hands, he’d have estimated Evie’s response perfectly. But Evie wasn’t an Anarch, and it wasn’t someone else suffering. She was, and she was used to Roy’s abuses. 

Some part of her had defaulted back to the terrified little girl who stood to take a beating in the hopes it would be over faster if she didn’t resist. And it killed him to see.

What he expected least of all was for her to pull away, rise to her feet, and begin to walk off. He stared after her, taken aback as her direction led into the treeline, not towards the camp.

“Where are you going?”

“Away. It’s better if I’m not around you anymore, Beckett,” she said. There was no emptiness in her voice, it was calmly stated and she was still wearing that small, weary smile. “There’s no point in you getting mixed up in my messes anymore, not if they can’t be fixed. You’d be getting hurt for no reason.”

She made it about five paces before Beckett was blocking her path, scowling, and she stared up at him in confusion.

“What-?”

“You expect me to just stand by and let you wait to die?” he snapped.

She frowned.

“I’m going to die anyway, whether he kills me or the Camarilla does,” she retorted. “There’s no point in-”

“Don’t give me that excuse!” he cut over firmly, doing his best not to raise his voice even as the rising Beast demanded it. “If anyone else were in your position, you’d be fighting tooth and nail to help them. You think I wouldn’t want to do the same for you?”

“It’s not that, it’s just not worth it!” she argued. “ _I’m_ not worth it! It’s not the same thing-”

“Evie, you risked your life to make sure your friend and Doctor Johansen both escaped the Society of Leopold alive,” he persisted. “Most Kindred would have left them to die. I certainly didn’t think saving a suicidal toreador was worth it.”

Her frown deepened into a scowl and she stepped forwards into his space, a move most sires wouldn’t tolerate of their childer. 

“Ash never asked for any of this! Isaac forced it on him, saved him when he didn’t want saving! Ash _asked me_ to save him, something he didn’t want from anyone!” she shouted. “How could I just-?”

“And you never asked for any of this either!”

He winced internally as his voice raised ever so slightly louder than he’d intended, and Evie flinched away from him. His gut turned. He needed to remember his self-control.

Still, it was the opening he needed, so he reigned himself in and met her gaze.

“You’re so willing to help anyone who asks, Young One, yet when you need help, you don’t ask for it or expect it. You don’t even see yourself as someone worth helping.” 

He stepped forwards, clasping his hands over her shoulders firmly.

“You have something that so many of us lack, Evie. Something I don’t want to see you lose before you have to. The part of you that makes you so alive compared to the rest of us, the part that still _cares_ about everyone else, yet you never save any of it for yourself.

“You are worth helping, Evie. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t have tracked you down on that train, and I certainly wouldn’t have offered to take you with me. So let me try to help you now. Let me try to make things better.”

He wasn’t a fan of cliches and so he wasn’t a fan of these silences between them. It was also partly because he could never really tell how Evie would react to what he’d said.

This time, the facade of calm acceptance crumbled and while she didn’t outright sob, she was biting back tears as she buried her face into his chest. He chuckled, hugging her back.

“You know, I haven’t had this many hugs in centuries,” he remarked dryly in a barely veiled attempt to ease the tension a little.

“Couldn’t tell,” she mumbled. “You’re good at them.”

“Good to hear.”

He wondered, briefly, if this was the moment to inform her about Heather's final death but decided against it. One huge revelation was enough for one night. She needed time to process the fact that her father had been Kindred all along, and now actively sought her death. But he couldn’t not say anything. If someone else mentioned it first, she would sense he was hiding things from her, and it would make things harder for them going forwards.

So slowly, he eased her away.

“There’s a lot we still have to talk about,” he said slowly. “Including why you never told me about Heather.”

Immediately the colour drained from Evie’s face and her eyes went wide in horror. She opened her mouth to speak but Beckett raised a hand, so no words came out.

“But not tonight. You’ve got enough on your mind as it is. And no, I’m not angry with you. I just need to understand.” He then turned and beckoned for her to follow. “Take some time to think about it, and we’ll talk about it tomorrow. For now we should get back. No doubt the others will be expecting us to take part in the damn Rites.”

Behind him Evie hesitated, but she trailed along at his side. He could see a glint of gratitude in her eyes as she slipped her hand into his, like a child holding their father’s hand to keep him close.

Funnily enough, he found himself not minding the comparison very much at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone so much for your support on this project, especially to KitKat for her feedback and donation ^^


	13. A Gather of Gangrel

“Remember that while killing is forbidden during the Rites, your opponents won’t hesitate to rip your guts out. Don’t give them an inch, or you’ll regret it.”

“Thanks _dad_ ,” Evie scoffed as they made their way through the camp. “But I’ve seen the fights going on here. I know what to expect.”

Beckett shook his head, looking vaguely amused.

“Seeing is one thing. Participating is another,” he pointed out. “Just don’t come crying to me if you get an arm torn off.”

It had been three nights since Beckett’s arrival, and the first official night of the Gather as it was deemed that all who would attend were now present. A small handful of others had trickled in, and now the number in the camp had reached about thirty. Apparently, it was an unprecedented number.

Evie felt ansty, but somehow more at peace than she had in months. Finding out that her father was Kindred as opposed to a ghoul had horrified her more deeply than words could express, but somehow the fact he wanted her dead was less shocking. She’d shot him in the head. Why wouldn’t he want revenge for the slight? She still couldn’t see how they were supposed to fix it - if he was a Prince, the Camarilla would take his side over some lowly Fledgling - but there was a peace in knowing that Final Death was unavoidable now. It let her focus on the Rite and giving everything she had, rather than holding back in the hopes of avoiding agonising injury.

She had dispensed of her jacket, ear piercings, and her necklace - there was no need to give her opponents ground to gain - but kept the Tarulfang tucked safely in her jeans pocket.

A few nights ago she could have just about fit her phone in there, but a few other Gangrel who bothered with clothing helped her make some adjustments. Now she could comfortably fit her phone, fang, a set of keys, and god knows what else into one pocket without trouble.

Beckett on the other hand had left behind his glasses and gloves and jacket, and had tied his hair back. He still wasn’t pleased about having to remain for the Gather, but conceded that at some point or another, Evie would experience one, and it didn’t hurt to have her sire around for the event.

It also didn’t hurt that he’d focused the last few nights of training on the Fortitude discipline, and increasing her resilience to physical attack.

“It makes the difference between a sprain and a snapped bone,” he’d said. “Just be glad that there’s no time to work on resilience to fire, or I’d be running a burning branch down your arms right now.”

At the time she’d thought he’d been joking, but after witnessing a few others doing exactly that, she reminded herself that not everything Beckett said was a jab.

By the time they had arrived at the clearing where the Rites were taking place, they had already begun. The Alligator Gangrel and Tereza were currently locked in fierce battle, both bleeding with chunks of flesh torn out of one another. The rest of the clan sat in a ring surrounding them, cheering and yelling as Tereza - who was surprisingly fast for her size - darted out of her opponent’s reach before tearing back in with flashing talons to gouge out another chunk of flesh.

The Alligator Gangrel barely flinched and lunged, sinking those large, peg-like teeth into Tereza’s shoulder where she held fast. Tereza didn’t flinch either, and instead she vanished, her form greying and dissipating as Beckett’s did when he employed this power.

The mist that was Tereza slithered over the Alligator Gangrel and coalesced behind her. Except it didn’t take Tereza’s shape as it twisted and reconsolidated itself. Instead it took the form of a large cassowary.

A roar went up from the crowd, some in delight and others in shock as the upright bird charge the Alligator Gangrel from behind and unleashed a devastating double-kick to her spine. The Alligator Gangrel tried to turn and catch the cassowary’s feet, but it didn’t cease in its assault, kicking at every inch of scaly hide it could reach before darting around to the other side where it could resume its attack. And while it didn’t look like it was doing any harm, Evie spied patches of black and blue bruises flourishing between the scales and a dribble of blood beginning to leak between those large teeth.

Even if there wasn’t a whole load of external damage, the internal injuries would decide this fight one way or another. And it seemed the Alligator Gangrel knew that as once again she lunged for the cassowary, clearly intent on putting Tereza down before her injuries got the better of her.

But once more Tereza transformed, and all the Alligator Gangrel received was a boot to the side of the head as she balanced on one foot and spun to deliver a kick with the other.

There was a roar as the Alligator Gangrel hit the ground. She rolled onto her front, wheezing as she spat out a mouthful of blood.

“I yield,” she growled, but then glanced up at Tereza with a toothy grin. “You’re as strong as ever.”

“And you are as brash as ever, Mindy,” Tereza chuckled, offering a hand. “It was a good fight.”

The Alligator Gangrel - Mindy - accepted the hand and allowed Tereza to help her to her feet. There was applause as the two, bloodied and weary, hobbled out of the circle. Another Gangrel directed them to a pile of animal corpses, and they took to feeding as another Gangrel all but bound into the circle, grinning from ear to ear in anticipation.

“Ah, another Fledgling,” Beckett snorted. “They’re always like this.”

“Not sure what he enjoyed more. The idea of the fight, or seeing Tereza kicking Mindy’s arse,” Evie whispered back, gesturing cheekily towards his ‘lower’ areas.

Beckett chuckled and shook his head.

“Well come on,” the Fledgling yelled, gesturing to Evie. “We gonna do this or what?”

She blinked, realising that all eyes were now on her, many of the Gangrel grinning or eyeing her up expectantly, as if they were already trying to get the measure of her.

“You might as well. You’ll have to fight him sooner or later, to determine the hierarchy,” Beckett explained. Then he grinned and added, “just try not to leave him in too many pieces. It’d be a hassle to clean him up.”

She grinned back and got to her feet. Others cheered as she moved into the circle to join the other Fledgling who was swinging his arms back and forth. They met in the middle with a solid thwack, the knuckles on one hand meeting the palm of the other. 

He looked built for a fight, but going from the glint in his eyes, she guessed this was about more than hierarchy. He was looking to prove that she wasn’t anything special, and if she was, if he took her down, he was better. She decided there and then that she was going to prove him wrong.

They took the first thirty seconds to circle one another and size each other up like a pair of wolves. Then he tensed up and raised his fists, as if about to box. She could see the way his skin seemed to tense and tighten over his muscles. Beckett had taught her how to recognise the use of Fortitude.

She lunged forwards as if to roll, but instead of hands, it was paws that hit the ground as the black wolf cub darted between the Fledgling’s legs. There was a roar of laughter as he stood there, blinking like some dumbstruck fool with his fists raised and no idea of where his opponent had gone. In the second it took him to process what had happened, and to reorient himself, Evie had dashed between his legs again.

The laughter only increased as she did this again and again, effectively running circles around the Fledgling as he struggled to keep up, and others were yelling, egging him on to do _something_ instead of just standing there like an idiot.

Evie caught a glimpse of his face and could see he’d gone bright red with embarrassment as he lunged at her with a roar, but she was too quick and he pile-drived straight into the dirt.

Another roar of laughter went up and some of the watching Gangrel had doubled over, they were laughing so hard. Beckett was grinning proudly and Tereza and Mindy, both holding rabbits in their hands, were giving her a thumbs up.

Emboldened by the support, Evie darted over to the prone Fledgling and gave him a sharp nip on the ear - just enough to draw blood - before moving out of his reach again.

The Fledgling roared furiously as he leapt to his feet, diving for the cub once again, only to miss. Again Evie moved in for a quick nip before resuming her tactic of running back and forth across the space. This went on for several long minutes before she finally shifted back into her human form, and her opponent snarled at her. She simply smiled innocently, as if she hadn’t made him look like an idiot in front of everyone else.

When he lunged, it was sloppy and badly co-ordinated, driven more by anger than finely honed instinct, and she didn’t need sharpened reflexes to step out of his path. She backed towards the centre of the circle and unsheathed her talons. From the sidelines, everyone started cheering, clearly eager to see the fight begin in earnest.

‘No sense in disappointing them,’ she thought.

When she lunged, the Fledgling was unprepared for her speed and precision and he screamed as his torso was ripped open from his left hip to right shoulder. He tried to swing at her, but she ducked as she kept her footing fluid and stepped out of his reach, then dived in again, raking her claws along his back before stepping out from behind him and moving away again.

She shook out her hand, splattering blood over the ground as she smirked at the Fledgling.

He roared furiously and charged, so she rolled out of his path, threw out and arm, and severed one of his hamstrings.

A cheer went up as the Fledgling crashed to the ground and Evie straightened up, having barely broken a sweat. The Fledgling struggled, trying to get to his feet, determined not to give in just yet, but the moment he tried to bear weight on his damaged leg, he yelped and fell as it gave way from beneath him.

One of the older Gangrels - the one who’d been telling stories a few nights prior - sauntered into the ring and crouched beside the fallen Fledgling.

“And that’s why you don’t let your anger get the better of you,” he chuckled, slinging one of the Fledgling’s arms around his shoulders. “C’mon, let’s get you some blood. I think you’ve embarrassed yourself enough for one night.”

The Fledgling grumbled but allowed himself to be assisted to his feet, gave Evie a curt nod (he was still scowling), and hobbled out of the ring as she returned to Beckett amidst a series of cheers and applause, and some laughter at the Fledgling’s expense. She got claps on the back and shoulders and Beckett greeted her proudly.

“You certainly gave them a show, Young One,” he remarked. “How long did the actual fight last? A minute? Less? Surely that’s some kind of record.”

“It’s not my fault that he was the one who wasted time trying to catch me,” she pointed out, grinning.

“Very true,” Tereza agreed. She and Mindy were approaching, their wounds still in the process of closing shut as they fed on animal carcasses, and both were grinning.

“Not bad,” Mindy praised; her voice was accompanied by a hiss in the back of her throat, exactly like an alligator’s. “You fought smart. Don’t see that often from the little ones.”

She then turned to Beckett and raised a knobbled brow.

“So you really do have a childe. And you even brought her to a Gather? Jesus, since when were you the responsible sire among us?” she snorted.

“Adopted childe,” Beckett said bluntly. “And I’m sure you’re aware, but I wasn’t the one who brought her here.”

“True. Must’ve been Terry’s idea.” She nudged Tereza in the ribs with a toothy grin. “She always likes it when you bother to show up. You like seeing him beaten up or something?”

“Beckett needs to be put in his place every now and then, and I am always pleased to be the one to do it,” Tereza said with a sly grin, stealing a glance his way.

Beckett rolled his eyes.

“If you want to try and put me in my place, Tereza, then you’re welcome to try,” he challenged, grinning.

She grinned back and gestured to the ring.

“Then come and try to stop me.”

There was a cheer as Beckett rose to his feet and Tereza proceeded to follow him into the ring. Mindy took his place on the ground beside Evie. She was still grinning, and up close she smelled strongly of vitae and bloodsweat. 

Up close, she looked even more inhuman, with narrow, near-slitted nostrils and yellow green eyes with the bones of the sockets so pronounced that her eyes somehow looked smaller than they really were. She had no hair on her head or her body, and Evie couldn’t tell if it was because she’d shaved the spots without scales or if her frenzies had changed her body so thoroughly that it had all fallen out. ‘Alligator-like’ was actually a very accurate description for her.

“This’ll be fun. Beckett and Terry always draw their fights out,” she said, reclining herself across the ground.

“How long have they known each other?” Evie asked, torn between talking to Mindy and trying to keep watch Beckett and Tereza as they took their places. 

They spent the first minute or so exchanging quips and sizing each other up. If Evie didn’t know better, she’d put money on Tereza purely for the fact she was nearly a whole foot taller than Beckett, and much more muscular.

“I think it was, what, hundred and fifty years ago,” Mindy replied as she ripped a rib out of the rabbit and chewed on it absentmindedly. “Me and Terry were travelling in Bulgaria back then. Took to each other right away.”

Evie frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Mindy spat out the bone, hitting Beckett in the knee. He glowered at Mindy, and it was only fast reflexes that kept him from taking a kick in the head, and he quickly got back to focusing on the fight.

“He’s not told you? Pfft, why would he?” She shook her head. “Just watch kid, and if you still haven’t worked it out, pester him till he spills. It’ll be funny at least.”

Evie didn’t get a chance to ask as suddenly the two Gangrel charged, talons flashing, and collided in the centre, ripping and tearing at one another. Beckett dropped, and for a moment Evie thought Tereza had knocked him down, only for him to catch himself on one hand and tried to kick her feet out from under her. 

Tereza was ready though and didn’t lose her balance so easily. She kept her head well enough to kick Beckett hard in the side of the head and pinned him to the ground. She smiled down at him serenely.

“You look better down there,” she teased. “It suits you.”

“Well I have always enjoyed proving people wrong,” he grunted. 

He sunk his talons through the thick leather of her boot, and while she didn’t cry out, he was able to force her foot off of his head, staggering her enough that in the time she was forced to keep herself from falling that he launched himself up and slashed at her arm. A thick spurt of vitae erupted from the wound and she snarled, back pedalling before moving to circle in an attempt to flank him. 

He followed, not giving her room to recover as he slashed at her again and she barely lifted her bracer-clad arm in time to block the blow. He left thick gouges in the leather and his talons caught. Tereza took the opportunity. She twisted her arm to one side, forcing him to follow, and then headbutted him hard in the nose.

It shattered and blood began pouring down his face as Tereza used her free hand to catch him by the throat and drew him close. She took a sniff of his vitae and smiled as she leaned in and licked it from his chin. 

Evie couldn’t help pulling a face and Mindy laughed beside her. Whether at her expense or Beckett’s, she didn’t know.

“Tastes good,” Tereza remarked mischievously as she drew away, still holding him a good foot off of the ground.

“Thank you,” he grunted. Then he seized the arm holding him and used her as an anchor to raise himself and kick her hard in the gut. 

It was enough to force her to drop him and he hit the ground hard. And then he began to grey and dissipate, forming a cloud of rolling fog. Tereza rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Really? You think I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, Kære?” she teased, still grinning. 

All at once the mist rushed together in the air and formed into the body of a huge white wolf that fell towards Tereza with its fangs bared. She smiled, her body already shifting, and Beckett crashed into the ground as she swooped out of his path. An eagle with dark brown feathers save for its white tail soared over the clearing, swooping upwards in a spiral before it reached the height of its arc before it turned and plummeted down towards the wolf. Tereza re-emerged seconds before impact, as did Beckett, both with their claws out.

There was a crash as Tereza hit the ground and kicked up clouds of dirt and dust. For a moment, the ring and the fight’s outcome was invisible and Evie had to squint to get any clear view of what had happened.

As the dust settled, the outcome was revealed.

Tereza over Beckett, clawed hand buried a solid few inches into the ground, and his clawed hand hovering several inches beside her waist. Neither had hit their intended target. And they both burst out laughing.

“All of that, and you didn’t even manage to rip my arm off,” Beckett teased.

“Last I checked, you are still under _me_ , Kære. And I was the one who fell. What is your excuse for missing?” she teased right back, grinning.

“If I say that you win, will this be over faster?”

“Hmm…” She tapped her chin and then licked at the blood splattered down his neck again. “Very well. Your torment is over.”

She rose to her feet and extended a hand as the onlookers cheered and applauded. He took it and allowed himself to be levered up, grinning despite himself.

“See, Kære? You _do_ enjoy this,” she prodded.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

He made his way back towards Evie and Mindy, the latter chuckling away to herself, and Evie grinned at him. Before she could say anything, however, he gave her a look that said ‘not one word’ before seating himself down as another pair of Gangrel took to the ring.

[]

“So… were you and Tereza…?”

Beckett paused and raised a brow at Evie while giving her a very pointed look. They had returned to camp, and dawn was just over an hour away. The aroma of blood was heavy in the air as the various Gangrel around the camp tended to their injuries from the fights that had followed Beckett’s bout with Tereza, many nursing animal carcasses while others were off setting traps for the next night’s haul.

“I advise you don’t pry too far into my personal life, Young One,” he warned. “It’s personal for a reason.”

“So you were together? Or you are? Or…?”

He rolled his eyes.

“And yet you persist. A word of advice, Young One. If any other Kindred advises you against prying, take that advice.”

She cocked her head to one side with cheekiness glittering in her eyes.

“Well sure, if it was another Kindred. But if _you_ advise it…”

He shook his head in amusement, a small grin curling at the corner of his lip.

“You’re impossible. But to answer your question, I’ll explain courtship amongst Kindred. Some of us do engage in relationships with one another. Some courtships last longer than others, and while some are driven by affection, others can be purely out of self-interest,” he explained brusquely. “Yes, Tereza and I have previously engaged in courtship. No, we are not currently ‘together’ as you so eloquently put it. And that is all I’m willing to say on the matter.”

“That’s all I was asking,” she said defensively. “I don’t want the details on your bloody sex life.”

He laughed.

“Fair point. Just make sure you’re ready when you have to fight the others. You did well tonight, but Neonates and Ancillae aren’t going to tire out so easily, and will have sharp enough reflexes to catch you now they’ve seen you do that,” he said, stretching his newly-healed arm, as if to make sure everything was still working as it should.

“Well maybe I _want_ them to think that that’s my go-to tactic,” she replied smugly, grinning. 

Beckett just ruffled her hair. 

“Don’t get your hopes too high, Young One. You’re going to get beaten at some point or another,” he said. “Now go get ready for bed. You’ll need to be ready for tomorrow night.”

She nodded and returned to their tent, already feeling the tugging drowsiness urging her to sleep. She sat herself down on her sunbag and began unlacing her boots when she heard Beckett speaking to someone else. She paused and listened.

“We need to talk about what happened in LA. Now.”

That was Jesse’s voice. He sounded… angry. That wasn’t good. 

“I presume this is about what’s floating around Schrecknet? Fine, but make it quick. I’d like to get to bed before the sun has a chance to burn me to ash.”

Then they began to walk away. She could hear their footfalls headed off away from the tent, likely out of the camp.

Her curiosity piqued, Evie found herself torn. On the one hand, she really wanted to sleep. But on the other hand she was curious. What could be on Schrecknet that had Jesse so worked up at Beckett? And what did it have to do with LA? Something to do with Therese’s imposter? Or Heather? Had Beckett-?

She stopped that thought dead. She wasn’t going to jump to conclusions without knowing the truth for herself, but she had to know. So she waited until Beckett and Jesse’s footsteps had faded far enough into the distance that they wouldn’t spot her immediately before shifting into her Protean form and crawled out of the tent.

She skittered through the shadows of the camp largely unnoticed and spotted Beckett and Jesse walking off around the edge of the lake. She opted to stay within the treeline where she was less likely to be spotted, and began to follow.

[]

For a while, Beckett and Jesse walked in silence along the lakeshore until the camp was a small collection of lights in the distance. Or rather Beckett walked. Jesse was angrily stalking along, glowing eyes fixed on the ground ahead before he came to a halt and rounded on the elder.

“Does the kid know you killed Therese’s imposter?” he demanded, baring those pointed fangs.

Beckett raised a brow.

“Ah, the ex-Sabbat wishes to chide me on how I handle my childe?” he replied coolly with a smirk on his face. “It seems the night still holds a surprise or two.”

“Cut the shit, Beckett. Does she know or not?”

“No, she doesn’t,” he replied curtly. “Considering what I’d told her when I first arrived, I decided it was best to pace the revelations out, to give her time to process things. Although it seems you may have forced the issue. Isn’t that right, Evie?”

There was a rustle and he turned his head ever so slightly to fix his gaze on a patch of brambles where he could _smell_ the wolf cub who was watching them with those bright yellow eyes. As if she’d thought she could really sneak around without him knowing she was there. He jerked his head, gesturing for her to show herself.

Reluctantly, she did so, emerging from the brambles as a wolf and shifting back into her human shape once she was clear of them. As predicted, the emotions warred in her eyes. Shock, humiliation, some small measure of anger that she was trying her best to control.

Beckett simply folded his hands behind his back, smiled at her, then treated Jesse to a much cooler look.

“The next time you want to discuss matters regarding my childe, don’t try going around her back to do it,” he said firmly. Then he turned back to Evie. “Ask your questions, Young One.”

Evie visibly hesitated, glancing between Beckett and Jesse, before settling solely on Beckett.

“Who was Therese’s imposter, and did you kill them?” she asked reluctantly, as if she didn’t really want to know.

He wagered she’d already had a guess of her own as to the answer to the first half of her question. Why else would he bring up Heather back on the first night? She might not have thought too much about it, for fear that would make it true, but she wasn’t stupid. She could put the pieces together without being told how they fit.

“Her imposter was a fledgling. One who called herself Heather Poe-” there was a sharp intake of breath “-She told me that you found her dying in Santa Monica’s Clinic, and that you fed her your blood in order to use or toy with her.

“As for whether or not I killed her, I did not. I left her with Jeanette, so that Therese could decide what to do with her. An hour later, photos surfaced on Schrecknet-”

“That claimed you killed her,” Jesse snarled. “One of the others showed me earlier, said that the Cammies were singing your praises-”

“I had Okulos try to trace the original post, but whoever it was covered their tracks well,” Beckett pushed on, blatantly ignoring Jesse now in favour of Evie who was shaking her head and muttering under her breath. “They wanted people to believe I killed Heather so that you would believe it too.

“This is why I didn’t tell you sooner. On top of everything else you had to learn-”

“I still should have known!” Evie barked, eyes welling with tears. “I never wanted- I wasn’t using- I was just trying to-!”

“Save her. I know. That’s what you always try to do,” he said gently, moving forwards and gently placing a hand on her shoulder. 

She didn’t push him away but stood there, clearly taken aback by the shock of the news. And that, more than anything, told him that he’d been right not to dump it on her the same night she learned the truth about her father. She hadn’t needed this on top of that.

For a long moment there was only silence as Evie struggled to recompose herself, determined not to cry with varying degrees of success. She didn’t openly sob, at any rate. Nearby Jesse was standing awkwardly, the wind having been taken out of whatever rant he’d intended for Beckett and now he was left unsure of what to do with himself.

Frankly, Beckett didn’t really care what Jesse did. His only concern was his childe, and not the ex-Sabbat.

“Well, he can’t get away with it now,” Evie sniffed, brushing off away bloody tear. “It’s one thing to attack me, but Heather didn’t have anything to do with this. He has to pay for that.”

He smiled wryly, and a little bemusedly. 

“What happened to not being able to fix this?” 

“Oh, there’s no fixing it, and I definitely expect to die sooner or later,” she said a bit too casually for his liking, “but at least I can make sure he dies too for what he did to Heather.”

She paused, gazing off into the distance with both sadness and determination in her eyes.

“I messed up her life enough. I can at least make sure her death isn’t pointless.”

Beckett nodded. He didn’t quite agree with the sentiment or the reasoning - his own self-preservation instinct was too keen to be so self-sacrificing - but it was better than blindly accepting Final Death, he decided. Now, at least, she was motivated to do something about Roy. He just had to figure out a way to do it without getting her needlessly killed.

“Then we should get back to camp, Young One. You look exhausted,” he pointed out as he clapped a hand on her shoulder and steered her back along the shore, giving Jesse a scathing glance as they passed.

The ex-Sabbat glowered back but otherwise remained silent. Evie had made her choice, he had silently decided. Whether she regretted it or not was none of his business.

[]

It was the third night of the Rites, and the number of bouts left were whittling down quickly. Evie learned quickly that her accomplishments in LA really did amount to little in the face of such experienced Kindred, all of whom were used to fighting for survival on a regular basis. More than once did an Elder intercede to end the match before her guts decorated the ring, and not even Tereza had given her an inch. 

In the early hours of the evening, before the fights had even started, she was feeling still feeling sore from freshly healed wounds. Blood helped with easing the worst of it, but it would definitely impede her.

She’d not seen Jesse since his attempt to confront Beckett about Heather’s death, and it seemed that neither had anyone else. It was apparent to all that he had decided to leave already, which didn’t overly surprise her. He’d only agreed to come at Tereza’s suggestion after all, and he’d been resistant to the idea.

But now wasn’t the time to focus on Jesse. She had to focus on her opponent for the evening. Namely Beckett himself.

It was customary for every attendant to fight each other to establish the hierarchy and apparently being her sire didn’t automatically place him above Evie in the ranking. She was under no illusions that her chances were practically non-existent - he might go easy in training, but he was significantly older and more powerful than she was, and he wasn’t going to give her an easy victory that might go to her head - but either way she anticipated the challenge. No doubt he would use it as a chance to test her, to see how much she’d learned under his guidance.

She was eager not to disappoint.

“Keep this up, Young One, and I’ll think you’re looking forward to hitting me,” he remarked slyly as they headed for the ring with the rest of the camp.

“Maybe I’m still sore over the ‘no-more-protean-in-the-plane’ rule,” she pointed out with a cheeky grin.

“After what you did to my shoes, it was warranted,” he shot back. “And for the record, don’t think for a second that your tricks will work on _me_.”

“I don’t imagine they will. The ones you know about, anyway.”

He just rolled his eyes as they reached the clearing, with the other camp members all settling down in a broad circle, ready to watch a good few fights. Mindy was up first, facing off again Griff; the storytelling Gangrel who’d taken many of the camps fledglings under his wing for the Gather. The same one that Evie had briefly mistaken for her sire.

The match was brutally short, with Mindy putting Griff down hard and fast, yet he only laughed as he tried and failed to hobble back to his seat with only one foot, the other having been ripped off by those brutal alligator teeth. He was helped back to his spot, and Mindy dumped a whole deer in front of him, grinning at him toothily.

It still bewildered Evie that these people could be ripping each other to shreds one moment and laughing over an animal carcass together the next. Especially for members of a clan famed for being loners.

A few more matches went by - Tereza took down at least three Fledglings while the Cat-Tailed Gangrel finally put an end to her winning streak with a daring manoeuvre that seemed appropriately feline - before finally it was Beckett and Evie’s turn. 

There was some cheers and jeers being thrown as sire and childe entered the ring, many cheering on Evie. If she had to guess, Beckett had pissed off enough of them that they wanted to see him get knocked down a peg or two.

‘Well, I might as well try to give them what they want,’ she thought to herself as she took up her position.

Both Gangrel unsheathed their talons and began to circle, sizing each other up.

Evie had seen Beckett fight Assamites, hunters, and the other Gangrel at the Gather. He fought smart, but he was also unusually resilient to harm even without Fortitude. That would make doing any actual damage difficult. His reflexes were fast too, so actually landing a hit would be no simple feat either. 

Was it worth suddenly remembering that he had three centuries of combat experience on his side, and had no reason to go easy on her?

But, she reminded herself, she’d learned to get crafty when fighting and do the unexpected. And she’d spent her life taking hits. Throw in her Fortitude training, and she could probably take a few direct hits even from Beckett.

Finally the circling stopped, and going from the smirk on Beckett’s face, he fully expected her to strike first. So she did.

She leapt forwards as if to roll and Beckett immediately dropped into a kneel, ready to grab her in her wolf form by the scruff of her neck. Except she didn’t transform as anticipated and really did roll forwards and sprung up, punching him straight in the nose as she did so.

The move was enough to catch him off guard and he staggered back a small step, which provided a small opening for another punch.

Back when they’d first met, she’d have taken the chance and swung. As it was, she’d seen how rapidly he recovered and reacted, so she darted back out of reach instead, passing up on the opportunity. He couldn’t quite hide the proud grin on his face, which told her she’d made the right choice. She grinned back, circling back along the edge of the ring.

Then Beckett shot forwards at impossible speeds so that he was right in front of her.

Evie tensed, toughening her hide, but rather than throw a punch or swipe at her with his claws, he stepped past her and simply tapped her on the back of her head with a knuckle.

Bewildered, she turned to stare at him as he strolled back across the ring, grinning smugly.

“C’mon kid, don’t take the guff from him!” Griff cheered enthusiastically, and others joined in, urging her to pay him back for what must have been some sort of sleight.

She grinned and nodded, running after Beckett. She dropped and slid across the ground past his feet and launched herself upwards, talons flashing. But he caught her by the wrist and stepped aside as the momentum carried her forwards and she stumbled. A split second later, he was all that was holding her up and he was still smirking.

“Give up yet?” he teased.

She grinned back.

“Not a chance!”

“As you wish.”

He released her wrist and she hit the ground with the wind knocked out of her. The all-too-human instinct to gasp for breath took her, and the onlookers started yelling.

“Stop messing around, get up!” 

She flipped herself onto her front but before she could rise, the great white wolf clamped its jaws over the back of her neck. He didn’t apply any real pressure, not enough to break the skin, but just held her in place. A clear demand for submission. Which Evie was not prepared to give just yet.

She rammed her elbow into the side of Beckett’s face. He didn’t release, just growled in the back of his throat and applied a touch more pressure in warning.

This wasn’t what she had expected from him. She’d seen him fighting every night since the Rites began and he had never held back. He might have taunted an enemy at first, but he never hesitated to hit hard and fast with every tool available to him, never hesitated to place himself above them in rank. Yet against her, he was holding back. Like he wanted the fight to be over before he couldn’t avoid doing any real harm.

She appreciated the fact that he didn’t want to hurt her. No one else had held back and had left her having to regrow several fingers and an ear, and Beckett could easily do much worse. But at the same time it was frustrating. This was supposed to be a test, to pit themselves against one another and see how much she had learned. How was she supposed to know how well she was doing if he didn’t take the fight seriously?

So she did what he’d expected her to do before and shifted into her Protean form.

He tried to clamp his jaws around the wolf cub before she wriggled free, but she was already gone, scrabbling to hide under his belly. There was a roar of laughter as Beckett tried to force Evie out from under him, but she kept following, even when he tried leaping out of her path. Then she bit down on his tail and held on tight, even as he tried to shake her free. She tugged and pulled, like a puppy pulling on a tug toy and Beckett glared at her with his large amber eyes as the laughter continued.

He lunged, shifting back, to try and grab her but she darted between his legs, shifted back as well, before seizing him from behind with her arms locked around his neck.

“Give up yet?” she laughed.

He gave her a single glance over the shoulder that said ‘what do you think?’ before he flipped her over his shoulder. This time she fought the urge to gasp and she slashed upwards, catching his calf with her claws.

It was like trying to tear through iron, and while she did draw some blood, the wound was much shallower than it would have been on anyone with a lesser hide.

Nonetheless he hissed as his skin tore and she took it as her chance to scramble away across the ground. But when she looked back at him, he was greying and dissipating into a fine mist that rolled across the ring, much like he had when he fought Tereza.

She got to her feet but stayed crouched low, ready to defend herself when he decided to attack. 

Except he didn’t seem to be interested in doing so. The mist continued to swirl at her feet and across the ring, like he was going to remain impassive until she gave up. She scowled, and it seemed that she wasn’t the only one who was displeased with the tactic.

“Come on, Beckett! Fight the kid or give up, don’t force her to surrender by being a prick!” Mindy yelled.

At first Beckett didn’t seem to respond. But then all the mist surged into a single spot above Evie and she shifted, skittering across the ring as the white wolf launched itself at her. He barked and bounded after her, skidding a sharp turn to pursue her. He closed in, so she decided to try something she hadn’t tried before.

She shifted back, threw herself to the ground in a skid, and spun to kick Beckett’s paws out from under him.

There was a sharp yelp as he flew over her and crashed into the ground in a tangle of legs. With a mischievous grin, she shifted back into her wolf form once more and bounded over. She leapt onto his chest, tail wagging, and she clamped her jaws over his exposed throat.

There was a cheer, and she could feel a laugh rumble in Beckett’s throat as he shifted back into his human form.

“Alright, Young One. You can have this one. Just this once,” he chuckled.

She yapped and, in an instant, instinct took over and she proceeded to lick his face excitedly, tail wagging hard enough to cause bruises if it hit anyone.

Beckett wasn’t the only one laughing as he sat up and held the wolf cub away from his face, and he raised a brow at her in amusement.

“And you wonder why I don’t leave you unattended around shoes anymore,” he snorted. 

She just yapped back at him as he placed her back on the ground and rose to his feet as she shifted back. She got to her own feet, grinning. Then he promptly cuffed her over the ear.

“Keep in mind, I could have ripped you in two if I wanted, so don’t let it go to your head,” he warned.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I still get to have this over you,” she laughed, following him back into the crowd amidst praises and jeers, with Mindy and Tereza both shaking their heads at Beckett but giving Evie celebratory pats on the head all the while

The bouts continued into the night, with Evie losing another ear to Griff and him losing a nose to the Feline Gangrel, which finally settled the matter of hierarchy once and for all. Dawn was drawing close by the time the two shook hands, and the clan staggered back to camp, Evie still prodding at the torn hole on the side of her head.

Beckett had to smack her hand away from it.

“Leave it alone, or it won’t heal right,” he scolded.

Begrudgingly, she did as she was told and they crawled into their tent, ready to sleep for the day. But just as she was about to drift off, Beckett’s phone buzzed. She frowned sleepily, watching Beckett as he answered.

“Who is this? How did you-?” He stopped, glowering at the spot in front of him. “...Fine. But this better be worthwhile.”

He fumbled for a second, looking for a button, before a familiar voice came out of the other end, clear as day.

“You got it yet, Old Man?” 

“If you mean ‘did he get it on speaker’ then yeah, he did,” Evie yawned, rolling on to her side.

“Hey kiddo! Good to hear your voice,” Mercurio said happily. “Jesus, you’ve given us all a lot of trouble these last couple of months, what with the fire, and the Blood Hunt, and all. Glad you’re still in one piece.”

“Yeah, mostly,” she joked, lifting her hand to the hole in her head before a stern glare from Beckett stopped her midway and she ran it through her hair instead. “How’s everything in LA?”

“Confused. And messy. Between the Blood Hunt and that Fledgling being murdered under Jeanette’s nose,” he explained. “Things are heating up again, and Therese is just barely holding it all together. She’s not happy.”

Evie felt her stomach knot up and wondered how many of those ‘not happy’ feelings were aimed at her. And Mercurio seemed to sense it, as he hastily added, “I mean she’s not happy with this Roy character, the one behind all of this. Your Old Man told you about him right?”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “Yeah, he’s told me.”

She didn’t say anything about him being her father, however. She trusted Mercurio, but she didn’t need anyone outside of their tent hearing that little tidbit of information.

“Well, Therese has me doing some digging on him. It’s mostly bits and pieces so far, but I did dig up a lead that’ll at least keep you clear of LA for now. See, Roy’s got a friend in Berlin, some ally who’s doing some dirty work for him,” he explained. “Namely causing trouble for the Prince. Ex-Sabbat, goes by Wolff. This friend apparently has regular meetings with one of Roy’s agents. Find them, and maybe you get some answers. Like where to find Roy.”

“Seriously?!”

“Seriously. I know it’s not the best lead in the world, but-”

“No, it’s great,” Evie said, grinning. “Thank you.”

“No problem kiddo. Just be careful if you decide to chase it up. Berlin’s a mess, has been a long time. The Camarilla’s only just barely got a handle on the place, and the Prince is one paranoid bastard,” he snorted. “It’s only better than LA because no one’s trying to outright kill each other right now. Beckett can tell you more.”

“Sure, thanks Mercurio.”

She stifled another yawn, and Mercurio chuckled.

“You’re welcome. Now do me a favour and get some sleep kid. You sound beat.”

“Sure. Night. Or day. Or whatever it is I’m supposed to say,” she laughed.

Mercurio hung up and Evie looked up at Beckett. And she frowned. He looked tense and strained, and no small amount of wary.

“Beckett?”

He flinched like he’d touched a hot stove and turned to look back at her.

“Are you okay? You look… I dunno, but it’s not good,” she pointed out.

He shook his head.

“No, I doubt it is,” he said heavily, running a hand over his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. There was a long pause before he said, “I don’t think travelling to Berlin is a good idea, Evie.”

She blinked, as if she had misheard him

“But…” She shook her head. “You heard Mercurio. Roy has an agent _and_ an ally in Berlin. If we find them-”

“You also heard the part about Berlin being hardly stable, didn’t you?” Beckett interrupted brusquely. “Besides, of all the leads your friend could have found, it just happens to be this one? What if that’s where Roy expects us to go? Do you really think there’s no chance this isn’t a trap?”

She hesitated. Maybe it was drowsiness, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a completely different reason he didn’t want to go to Berlin that had nothing to do with Roy or Assamites or any kind of trap.

_Sooner or later he’ll do something you don’t like, whether he means to or not, and then what’ll you do? Now you only have yourself to blame when he disappoints you._

Jesse’s words echoed in her head uncomfortably loud, and it took a great deal of effort to quash his voice into silence. She trusted Beckett. Maybe he did have some legitimate reason to not want to go to Berlin. And he had a point. Of all the things Mercurio had dug up, it was one that told them to go to a city where the Camarilla’s control was fragile at best?

Not that she didn’t trust Mercurio. Rosa had said he was the only person besides Beckett who could be trusted. No doubt he was genuinely trying to help, he couldn’t help it if this was the only trail he had found that they could actively pursue.

Then she yawned again.

“Can we talk about it tomorrow? I’m tired,” she said, unable to keep the exhaustion out of her voice.

Reluctantly, Beckett nodded.

“Alright, Young One. But I doubt I’ll like it anymore tomorrow than I do tonight,” he pointed out begrudgingly.

She didn’t get to give it any more thought, as the moment she laid down the daysleep took her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support on this fic, your comments have given me life as always!! I love hearing what you think, and I'm glad to hear so many of you are enjoying it :D
> 
> I look forward to hearing what you all thought of this chapter, and I will see you in the next update <3


	14. The Succubus Club

Kindred didn’t age, but that didn’t mean they were unchanging. Evie inspected herself in the bathroom mirror, running the tips of her fingers over her cheekbone.

She’d lost weight and built muscle since her Embrace, especially since leaving LA for the second time. Her cheeks were less full, her physique more defined. Scars nicked her palms, and there was a small, faint line just below her earlobe where her ear had grown back in. Her hair was longer and wilder too, growing closer and closer to her waist with the passing nights.

It had been over a month since the Gather had concluded, and Beckett had been avoiding making the trip to Berlin. He refused to elaborate his precise reasons for not going, but it was obvious that there was more to it than him believing it was a trap laid by Roy, and he wouldn’t hear another word on the subject. 

It was frustrating, but she had to believe he had good reasons. If she couldn’t trust Beckett then who could she trust?

So she followed his lead as ever. Tonight they were in Paris where they were to meet with another old friend of Beckett’s, Victoria Ash, who was a member of some sort of travelling group called the Succubus Club. The club was throwing a party in the City of Lights, and that was where Victoria would be meeting with Beckett and Evie. She knew a lot of people, including Roy and his various childer, so it was possible she had some new leads for them to pursue besides Mercurio’s lead to Berlin.

In fact, Evie was supposed to be getting ready right now. No one could just walk up to the doors of a Succubus Club party in jeans and a hoodie and expect to get inside.

The problem, however, wasn’t the knowing what to wear part, Victoria had sent some things over for two Gangrel ahead of time, and Evie’s included a black leather skirt, a black sweater with three-quarter-length sleeves and a white moon and star printed on the front, knee-high boots, and thin tights that had been torn in places. Nothing too revealing, while still being reasonably fashionable. No, it was getting past the memories of getting ready for a night out with Sam. 

Evie would spend ages trying to get her eyeliner to look right, nearly taking an eye out more than once, before Sam would intervene and do it for her. They would sit in front of her vanity mirror, with Sam talking Evie through the steps and explaining everything she was doing as she went. She had helped with colour palettes, applying everything evenly, ensuring there were no stray bits of lipstick on teeth or clumps of mascara.

Her chest tightened just thinking about it and her eyes threatened to well up just thinking about it. 

“Are you ready yet?” Beckett called, interrupting her train of thought.

“Not yet,” she called back.

“Well try to be quick about it, we actually need to  _ be _ at the party.”

“I know, I know.”

She sucked the air between her teeth and finally forced herself to open the makeup bag that Victoria had sent. It was filled to the brim with everything she might need, from foundation to nail varnish, and the tools she needed to apply it all.

Carefully, she began to categorise everything neatly and tried to remember everything Sam had taught her in front of the mirror, picking colours she liked that also complimented her wardrobe, tied her hair back into a knot to keep it out of her face which she promptly cleaned and dried before she focused her blood as Beckett had advised. Slowly, the colour revived itself in her cheeks and her skin became warm enough to pass for alive. Once she looked suitably alive, she got to the task of applying the makeup.

Bit by bit she worked through the various steps, as advised by Sam.

“ _ Remember to be gentle and take your time, _ ” she would laugh. “ _ Rushing just makes it look messy, and pressing too hard is bad for your skin. And remember to double check your teeth, just in case. _ ”

She did double check, and wiped away a stray bit of lipstick that had stuck itself to one of her fangs.

“Thanks Sam,” she murmured.

By the time she was done, she looked like she was about to head out with Sam, Jenny, and the others. If not for the fangs, she might look like she was still alive. 

Carefully, she pulled her hair out of its knot and brushed it out so that it flowed down her back and over her shoulders. She ran her fingers through and fluffed it gently until it looked as good as it was going to get. Which wasn’t half-bad, if she was being honest. She nodded to herself before finally stepping out of the bathroom.

Beckett was checking his phone when she emerged and raised a brow when he got a look at her.

“You should be passable for the Succubus Club at least,” he remarked with a slight smile.

“Let’s just hope this party’s better than the last one I went to,” she remarked grimly.

Beckett just patted her shoulder before leading the way out of the hotel room. Cesare was waiting for them outside in the car, ready to take them to the club’s location. He’d swapped his flightsuit for a sleek black suit, which Evie couldn’t imagine Beckett had asked of him. Another demand of Victoria Ash’s, more likely.

The pair climbed into the back seat and Cesare pulled away.

“Now, the first thing you should know is that Victoria will expect to be thanked for inviting us,” Beckett instructed. “And once we’ve been there a while, you ought to think of something you like about the party or the decorating and say so, she’ll appreciate that.”

Evie paused and raised a brow.

“...She’s a Toreador, isn’t she?”

Beckett laughed.

“She is. But try not to say that sort of thing around her. She’s hospitable, but she won’t take kindly to anything that could be perceived as an insult.”

“Right. So just act like I did when I had to hang around with Lacroix,” she sighed with a shake of her head. “God I hate elders.”

“I hope I’m not being included in that statement,” he chuckled.

“You are when you’re being a dick,” she replied, a grin tugging at her lips. “But the rest of the time, you’re one of the good ones.”

“I’ll take it.”

The rest of the car ride went by largely in silence as Cesare drove further into the city before they finally pulled up in front of the club where the Succubus Club had taken up residence. It was evidently one of the high-end venues within the city. The exterior was a pristine white marble with reliefs carved above the doors. The sign, which read ‘Manko’, sat below one of the reliefs, and Cesare drove off once Beckett had led Evie inside.

Just inside the doors was a short Kindred with over-long arms and he grinned at the sight of them.

“Welcome to the Succubus Club,” he greeted toothily. “Invitations?”

Beckett reached into his jacket pocket and produced the invitations which the Kindred took. He inspected them carefully, held them up to the light to detect any signs of forgery, though they seemed to pass the test.

“Welcome Mr Beckett, Miss Byrne,” he said, still grinning. “Miss Ash is expecting you. Though I must ask that you be aware that weapons are not permitted within.”

“We’re more than aware of the fact, Mr…?”

“You can call me Thing,” he replied, still grinning. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. And your’s, Miss Byrne.”

His eyes darted over to Evie and his grin seemed to widen a little.

“Miss Ash has been dying to meet you. So many stories and rumours… You’re quite the legend from what I hear. Did you really kill a Kuei Jin elder?”

“I’m afraid we don’t have time for stories at the moment,” Beckett interceded, placing a hand on Evie’s shoulder and steering her away from Thing. “I doubt Miss Ash will want to be kept waiting.”

Thing’s smile wavered a little but he bowed his head regardless.

“Of course, I’m very sorry sir. But first I really should do a weapons check. No offense meant, it’s just procedure.”

“None taken.”

Thing gave Beckett a quick pat down and asked Evie to unfasten her boots in case she’d stowed anything in them. It wasn’t like there was anywhere else on her person that had space to properly conceal a weapon, so he didn’t conduct a patdown on her, which was very much appreciated.

He then gestured for them to enter the club proper.

“Miss Ash is waiting for you in a private booth on the upper level,” he said. “She wishes to discuss your business first so that you may enjoy the rest of your evening. There are vessels present, should you wish to feed, and besides the usual rules surrounding Elysium, you won’t have to worry about violating the Masquerade. Have a good night, now.”

Beckett nodded and led the way into the club.

If the marble exterior hadn’t given away the kind of club that the Manko was, the interior did. The gleaming wooden floor shone with gold, as it covered every other surface. Golden pillars, golden dividers, even the bar was gilded with golden trim and its surface was a solid sheet of black marble. There were collections of tables with cream and turquoise chairs, golden leather sofas, and chandeliers made of crystal. The stairs leading up to the second floor which overlooked the rest of the club were trimmed with gold and flanked by more pillars. At the far end of the ground floor was a stage where a band was playing, and there was a crowd of dancers in front of it.

In fact, the entire space was packed to the brim with people, both Kindred and Kine alike. Conversation was indistinct through the pounding music, and Kindred were feeding openly, mouths pressed to mortal necks. All were dressed up, however, some in suits and cocktail dresses, others in a more casual (albeit still very fashionable) style.

It was all very overwhelming at first. After spending the better part of three months in the wilderness, the lights, sounds, and smells of the club were a shock to her senses and she had to keep a hand on Beckett’s arm as he led the way through the crowd so that she didn’t lose him. Sweat and perfume mingled with the scent of blood and the Beast stirred a little at the thought. 

She kept it down and continued to follow Beckett at he reached the stairs. They were mostly clear and the upper level, while still bustling, seemed less busy than the ground floor. 

Beckett seemed to know where he was going, and whether that was thanks to prior information or his own heightened senses she couldn’t tell. He picked a path through the crowd, occasionally being stopped by a Kindred who recognised him and said hello, though he didn’t stop to chat beyond the initial greeting.

By the time they reached Victoria Ash’s booth, Evie had finally adjusted to the assault on her senses and was able to focus.

Victoria Ash was not atypical of a Toreador. Like those Evie had met in Hollywood, she was, by all definitions, beautiful. Her hair was dyed a pale, pastel pink and worn braided back into a bun. She was adorned in crystals, dangling from her ears, worn around her neck and wrists, glistening over her fingers, and she wore a dress that shimmered as it caught the light - it was no one defined colour, in fact it seemed to change colour with even the slightest of movements. When Evie got a closer look, she realised that it too was interwoven with tiny crystals, hence the shimmering.

She beamed at the sight of Beckett and rose from her seat to greet him.

“Beckett,” she said. “So glad you could make it.”

“Of course. I could hardly turn down an invitation from the beautiful Victoria Ash,” he replied, smiling as he took her hand. “I’ve not seen a lovelier shade of pink on hair.”

They exchanged a brief kiss on the cheek before Victoria turned to Evie.

“And this must be your childe.” She held out a hand. “Such a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Byrne.”

“Thank you for inviting me, Miss Ash,” Evie said, mimicking Beckett in taking the offered hand. Then she remembered his advice and added, “your dress is beautiful. Did you design it yourself?”

Beckett nodded approvingly over Victoria’s shoulder as her face lit up in delight.

“Oh I certainly did, and for this occasion especially.” She then smiled knowingly at Beckett. “You’ve been teaching her properly, I see. Please, sit, both of you. There’s much to discuss.”

They moved to sit in the booth, and Evie found herself being steered to sit directly besides Victoria as opposed to Beckett. She felt her stomach lurch a little, remembering all too well the tricks that Manse and Cruise had employed, and- and Heather as well, but tried her best not to let it show. Instead she sat down and exchanged a glance with Beckett who smiled at her encouragingly before turning to Victoria.

“So I imagine you’ve heard the rumours already,” he commented, settling himself down, arms folded on the table.

“Of the Prince who wants you and your childe dead? I’ve heard quite a few,” Victoria admitted. “It’s tricky to sort the truth from the lie, however.”

“Yes, well for starters, Roy wants Evie dead. I’m just collateral at best,” Beckett replied. “I was hoping you’d know something that might help us to deal with him. Preferably without upsetting the power balance more than is necessary.”

Victoria laughed, a light tinkling sound like that of a bell.

“You don’t think small, do you Beckett?” she teased as she pinched her chin between her thumb and forefinger. She then turned to Evie. “I’m almost sorry that you have to put up with him, sweetheart. He does tend to get some very strange ideas in his head, doesn’t he?”

Evie relaxed slightly besides Victoria as she nodded slowly. It was strange, but the more Victoria talked, the more welcoming she seemed to be, and the warmer her smile seemed to grow. When she offered her arm to Evie, she placed a hand on the crook of her elbow, and Victoria’s smile broadened. 

The Beast purred and settled, whereas moments before it had been prepared to raise its ears had been flat against its head, wondering if it needed to lash out or not. How could she have seen this woman as a potential threat just moments ago? Her presence was so calming, reassuring even. 

Right here, right now, she wanted to be nowhere that wasn’t right besides Victoria Ash.

“Well, I have met Roy on occasion, along with his many  _ many _ childer,” Victoria began, snapping Evie back to attention, and she listened intently, hanging on every word. “He’s been ruling Leicester city for the last four centuries, though tends to leave the actual running of the domain to his childer for reasons he doesn’t care to make public. Victoria Manse serves in his place as Prince-Regent with Luciana Rictor serving as Seneschal, and Gina Holloway serving as Sheriff.

“However, as of late, Victoria has been absent from Leicester, and Luciana has taken over the role of Prince-Regent for the time being. Something that has left the city’s Kindred somewhat perplexed.”

“What about Delilah Cruise?” Beckett asked, frowning slightly. “She was with Manse when they attacked us in Northampton, and Evie says she was the one who attacked her in LA.”

Victoria’s lips pursed a little and she leaned back in her seat with Evie following.

“Well, as I’m sure you’re aware by now, Roy has many childer, and a good number of them are adopted from other clans. Brujah, Toreador, even a couple of Nosferatu from what I understand,” she sniffed. “But Delilah stands out. She’s Tremere, you see, and one not bound to the Pyramid.”

Beckett did a double take and his frown deepened.

“Not bound? How is that possible? All Tremere are-”

Victoria waved a hand, cutting him off.

“Made to drink the blood of their elders to bind them to the Pyramid, yes. But Delilah was sired outside of it. Apparently she was Embraced under similar circumstances to Evie here.” She then patted the hand Evie had resting on her arm. “Roy had the sire executed for violating the Traditions of Progeny, as the sire had not sought his permission, but spared Delilah and adopted her as his childe. The Chantry’s Regent demanded he have her go through the proper rituals to bind her to the Pyramid, but…”

“He refused. That must have gone over well,” Beckett snorted.

Victoria shook her head.

“I understand she was a source of tension between the Pyramid and the Ivory Tower, and rather disliked by many. The news of her Final Death is hardly public, however. If Roy knows, he’s not released any kind of statement.”

Beckett and Evie shared a knowing glance that said all that needed to be said. They were both in agreement that Roy definitely knew and that it was all a part of this plan of his.

“I just don’t get it,” Evie said, brow furrowing. “Why does Roy need so many childer?”

Victoria turned her attention away from Beckett and smiled wryly.

“You’d need to ask him yourself, and I assure you, that would be bad for your health,” she joked lightly. “But he certainly seems to have a fascination with family and family loyalty. Maybe it’s a hangover from his mortal life, or some value he still puts stock in. I doubt it really matters. What matters is that they all share his goal in pursuing  _ you _ , sweetheart.”

That was true. Whatever motivated her father to hunt her didn’t matter so much as the fact that he had the resources to do exactly that. And whatever he’d told these Kindred, whatever they knew of her through him, was enough to convince them that he was right.

“So, is it too much to hope that Roy makes a haven in Leicester city, or is finding him going to be difficult?” Beckett asked.

Victoria shook her head apologetically.

“Unfortunately, I-” She paused to wave away a pair of Kindred who were making they way over, making it clear that she was not to be disturbed. They looked disappointed, but did as was commanded of them. “-I don’t think anyone but Roy, his childer, and  _ maybe _ some of the Inner Circle knows where he makes his haven. Those who rule in his stead call the Curve Theatre home, and tend to rule from the Leicester Athena Centre, but otherwise-”

Suddenly the club’s atmosphere was shattered by screams and gunfire, and the band was forced to a screeching halt. All at once Evie snapped to her senses, and she felt as if she had suddenly broken through the surface of a soothing hot spring into freezing air as Beckett all but dragged her out of the booth away from Victoria. 

All at once people that weren’t Victoria came into focus, the world beyond the booth and the chaos that was quickly unfolding as chandeliers shattered and tables were overturned below them. There were people running for cover or for exits in some desperate bid to escape whoever was launching the attack. As if she even needed to guess who it was, even if the methods had changed.

Later, Beckett would explain that the strange shift in reality and perception were thanks to Victoria’s Presence Discipline which she had used to make Evie feel more at ease in her company. Right in the moment, however, her first thought was neutralising the attackers before anyone else could get hurt. She could already smell the aroma of blood wafting up from the ground floor.

She made to run for the stairs, claws out, and towards the sounds of gunfire and shouting.

“Come on, we have to-”

She found herself cut short as Beckett and Victoria all but dragged her into a corridor leading off from the main room, away from the commotion instead of towards it. 

One of the Parisian Kindred and a small huddle of Kine were cowering there as well, apparently unhurt but very much frightened by the sudden outburst of violence.

The Parisian Kindred - a tall slim man in a tailored suit - leapt to his feet at the sight of Victoria.

“Miss Ash, what’s-?!”

“Not now,” Victoria snapped. “Preserve the Masquerade at all costs. No witnesses.”

She jerked a head to the huddle of Kine nearby.

“Once that’s done, find a place to hide until security sweeps the building.”

The Parisian Kindred nodded sharply.

“Yes Miss Ash, I’ll-”

“Wait, what?!”

Evie yanked herself out of Beckett and Victoria’s grasp and stared at the latter like she’d gone mad.

“Evie, don’t-” Beckett began warningly, but she ignored him in favour of Victoria.

“You’re just going to kill them for being attacked?! What the hell is wrong with you!” she snarled.

Victoria’s earlier smile had already dropped into a cool, even look. Not quite a frown or a scowl, but utterly neutral. Passive. But now she had quirked a brow at Evie and the look she gave her was touched with something… condescending.

“I’m doing what needs to be done, sweetheart-”

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me!” Evie snapped back. “There’s no point in killing them, not over this! Or was the plan to kill them all along just for being here?”

The Kine looked positively terrified, looking from Victoria to Evie, then to Beckett and the Kindred that Victoria had addressed. They had the sense to shuffle a little along the wall, placing themselves behind Evie who they had clearly worked out was the only one willing to try and protect them.

Victoria sighed and looked over to Beckett.

“I’d have thought you’d have taught her necessity by now,” she said curtly.

Beckett paused a moment before placing himself alongside Evie with a hand on her shoulder.

“We have enough problems to deal with right now without killing each other,” he said evenly, more at Evie than anyone else. “I know you can wipe memories Victoria. Humour her this once and have them forget the last few minutes, then have your friend here tell them that its a terrorist attack and to hide until its over.”

Victoria pursed her lips disapprovingly.

“You’re spoiling her, Beckett,” she said warningly.

“After everything she’s been through, a little spoiling won’t kill her right now. Standing here arguing will. You won’t change her mind, so just let her have her way this once.”

She sighed and shook her head.

“Fine. Just this once.” She gave Evie a levelled stare. “For your sake, however, you’d best learn the way the world works quickly.”

“I already know how it works,” Evie growled. “And I’ve decided I’d rather not go along with it, thanks.”

Victoria said nothing. Instead she swept past without another word to Evie and crouched before the frightened Kine, smiling kindly at them. They flattened themselves against the wall regardless. She had, after all, just ordered their deaths only moments ago.

“You’re not going to die tonight, lovelies. But it’s best that you… Forget.”

They went glassy eyed and looked vaguely dazed and confused as Victoria straightened up. She turned back to the Parisian Kindred who looked very confused about the whole exchange and the fact that Victoria Ash had conceded to the whims of a fledgling.

“See to it that they stay safe until this mess is dealt with,” she instructed brusquely, shaking him from his confusion.

He didn’t question, just followed his orders and hurried the dazed Kine to their feet, down the hallway and through a door, disappearing from view.

Victoria then hiked up the skirt of her dress, looping it between her legs and tying it securely at the waist for ease of movement. Doing so revealed a holster strapped to her leg and she pulled out a tiny handgun, holding it at the ready. 

“In the meantime, the two of you follow me. And keep those claws of yours’ ready, just in case.”

[]

Victoria’s warning to have their claws ready wasn’t misplaced. The trio made it to the restaurant, and were now moving slowly and carefully through the tables on hands and knees to avoid the watchful eyes of the Assamites.

The assassins were well armed, which meant they weren’t taking any more chances so far as this contract went. Among them, Evie spotted the Elder from Northampton, sporting a new jacket free of claw marks and cradling an assault rifle in her arms as she strode through the room, flipping up table cloths in search of her quarry.

She shouted something in Farsi, and Beckett quickly backed up, gesturing for Evie and Victoria to change direction. He’d obviously understood what the Assamite Elder had said, so they did as he said.

In the distance, the worst of the gunfire and screaming had faded for hard silence, and Evie felt the all too familiar sensation of guilt soaking into her chest. How many people had already died because she was here? How many more would die before the Assamites either finished the job or decided she must have escaped and continued their search elsewhere?

“She’s not downstairs.”

A door burst open and Evie quickly ducked under a table as an Assamite marched into the room, a gun in one hand and stake in the other. He looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t think of why.

“No record of an invitation, no one who’s spoken to her, it’s like she was never here,” he spat. “How good is this information exactly?”

“It’s not your place to question,” the Elder replied in a low rumble, her voice dripping with a barely masked harshness. “She’s here. Trust that.”

“So then where is she? There’s nothing to suggest-”

“Victoria Ash’s pet can destroy invitations after accepting them, and we know that the girl and the Noddist would have gone to speak with her first,” the Elder purred. “Find Ash, and we find the target. And this time, try not to let the pretty little girl near your neck, hard as that might be for you. It nearly got you killed last time.”

So that was the Assamite she’d nearly diablerised… 

Guilt knotted itself deeply in her chest, pressing hard on her lungs which would have made breathing harder if she still needed to do so. He was intent on killing her though, she reminded herself, and self-preservation was a key part of maintaining one’s humanity.

She then shuddered. Jack was the one who’d told her that.

Beckett patted her on the shoulder, breaking her from her reverie, and pointed towards a door on the opposite side of the room that seemed unguarded for the moment. It took her a split second to realise that it was a fire escape.

He nodded towards the door and slowly took the lead, Evie following behind, and Victoria bringing up the rear with her handgun.

Halfway across, they crawled under the table of a corner booth just seconds before an Assamite turned the corner and passed them by. They must have already checked the table as they didn’t bend down and spot them. And slowly the three Kindred carried on. 

The crawl was agonising to Evie, who could only think of the people who were undoubtedly being held at gunpoint and being interrogated at that very moment. Would they be killed for not knowing anything? Would the Assamites let them go once they found what they were looking for? She really didn’t know how the Assamites handled hostage situations. She would ask Beckett, but right now wasn't the time.

Not that it would matter in the end. The likelihood was that the moment she and Beckett were gone, Ash would renege on her, turn around, and order the Kine be slain for the sake of ‘preserving the Masquerade.’

It was such bullshit. Victoria had arranged this party and had been fully aware that the Kine would recognise the Kindred amongst them. They would see feeding as it happened, they would hear the chatter. The Masquerade had meant very little before, so why did it matter now that the Assamites had attacked?

The loss of control probably. It was Ash proving that even in the midst of an attack, she had power and she could maintain it in crisis. And the Kine were the ones who paid for it. And yet Toreadors were supposed to be closer to their humanity than the rest of the clans. Bullshit.

Her momentary loss of focus was all the Assamites needed. As she moved to crawl to the next table, she didn’t check her corners properly and one caught sight of her.

“There she is!”

There was a hail of gunfire as Evie broke away from Beckett and rolled under a table, knocking it on its side as the bullets tore holes in the floor where she’d been seconds ago. Beckett did the same, and Victoria took shelter with Evie, her handgun at the ready.

“This doesn’t need to be hard, girl,” one of the Assamites yelled. “Come out now and we’ll make it quick!”

Evie didn’t reply, just unsheathed her claws. Victoria drew her attention and jerked her head towards a chandelier hanging over the narrow aisle that led to their overturned table, then held her gun up and mouthed ‘run’.

Evie got the message and nodded, albeit a little reluctantly, and glanced over towards Beckett who had his claws out too and was currently holding back. Clearly he’d realised that Victoria was up to something.

The Assamites drew closer, and when one jumped up onto a neighbouring table, Victoria threw herself into the open and fired at the wire suspending the chandelier over the Elder and her accompanying Assamites.

The chandelier crashed down on them, with the Elder practically winking out of sight as she darted forwards out of its path. She reappeared a couple of feet in front of Evie with her blade drawn. 

She advanced, even as Victoria raised her handgun, but Evie launched herself forwards, claws flashing. The Elder simply smirked and caught Evie by the wrists, stopping her dead.

“You’re strong, Fledgling, I’ll give you that. You’d have made a good Assamite,” she remarked.

Evie spat in her face, raised her feet, and kicked her in the chest.

The Elder spluttered, caught off guard, and stumbled. Her grip on Evie’s wrists slackened enough for her to slip free. She fell to the ground, even as the Elder tried to seize her leg, and rolled towards Beckett, who dragged her into cover and pulled out a gun from his pocket. Evie stared, wondering how Thing had missed it, but decided it wasn’t important as the Elder blinked out of the line of fire.

Victoria fired her gun again and leapt out of cover, just as her target toppled from their table out of sight with a loud crash.

But instead of moving towards Evie and Beckett in an attempt to flee, Victoria stood tall amongst the wreckage and this time Evie could  _ feel _ the Majesty radiating off of her in waves that slammed into her, wracking her body and cowing her into bending her head in Victoria’s presence. It was only Beckett’s firm grip on her shoulder that kept her from doing so.

The Assamites were similarly affected, the youngest in the group dropping to their knees in wide eyed wonder, while some of the older ones simply backed away from her. The Elder seemed the least affected, yet even she hesitated to act.

“How  _ dare _ you interfere with  _ my _ club!” Victoria roared. “How  _ dare _ you attack my guests, and wreak havoc on a party that I spent  _ weeks _ planning! Do you have  _ any idea _ how much work it all took? The planning, the preparation, acquiring the resources, bringing everything together to make it perfect?!”

She seemed to grow and take up the room, and it took Evie a moment to realise that Beckett was trying to drag her towards the fire escape door while the Assamites were distracted.

“You’ve  _ ruined _ it! You’ve  _ destroyed _ my work! By all rights I should flog you all with your own spines!” Victoria continued, and more and more of the Assamites looked like they were painfully regretting their decision to launch an attack the Manko. “Get out of my sight, get out of my club, and tell whoever sent you that they had best apologise and provide recompense, lest I have their head parted from their shoulders!”

The Assamite Elder moved forwards as her subordinates cowered in the face of Victoria’s rage, though she didn’t raise her weapon.

“I regret that it came to this, Lady Ash, but a contract is a contract-”

“I do not want to hear your excuses,” Victoria hissed, holding her gun to the Elder’s sternum as Evie and Beckett slipped out the door. “I told you, get out before I have to consider a Tzimisce-esque approach to my next piece.”

Evie didn’t know what happened next, whether the Assamites cooperated with Victoria or if the fighting continued. She just followed Beckett down the stairs and out onto the street where he called Cesare who was circling the block with the car, and arrived moments later.

They bundled themselves into the back seat and the car pulled away, heading back to the hotel where Beckett planned to gather their things and head for the plane before the Assamites could pick up their trail again.

“I can’t believe we just left,” Evie muttered. “What if they end up killing everyone?”

“They won’t,” Beckett said firmly. “The Assamites are after you. Trust me, Victoria and everyone else are much safer with us gone than if you tried playing the hero.”

Something about the way he’d said it rubbed her the wrong way and she scowled.

“You agreed with Victoria then? You thought those people should have been killed?” she snapped.

“Of course not. While I respect Victoria’s decision to uphold the Masquerade at any cost, I don’t agree that Kine should be killed at the drop of the hat, just in case. It’s a dreadful waste of life.”

“So what do you mean then, by me playing the hero?” she demanded.

“I’ll keep this simple Evie. You want to try and save everyone, but it’s just not realistic. You know that by now,” he sighed, leaning his head back against the headrest. “And charging in, trying to fight them all? It would have only gotten more people killed.”

Fair enough, but it still rubbed wrong and so she scowled and turned to stare out of the window. In the streets behind them she spotted flashing blue lights speeding towards the Manko, undoubtedly in response to the attack.

The chill of the glass seemed to fade as the facade of life drained from her skin and the numb cool returned to her body, leaving her makeup looking too vivid against her dead flesh.

She was getting sick of this. Not just being attacked, though she was  _ definitely _ very much done with being targeted by a man she believed dead, but knowing that she wasn’t even really alive to begin with. 

Once she’d said to Sam that she’d sleep when she was dead, in response to Sam prodding her about the fact she kept pulling all nighters during exam season. Well she was dead, and yet she felt like she’d barely gotten a moment’s rest. How much more would she have to take before she could just be? Would she ever know such peace, or would it be kept from her until Final Death?

She already knew the answer. Roy was going to make her pay for drawing a weapon against him, let alone attacking him, even if it had been done rashly in the heat of the moment. A desperate act to try and save the only person who had loved her. 

He’d never let her rest. He’d have her spending the rest of her unlife running, always looking over her shoulder, never knowing who could be trusted. He knew exactly how to pull her strings and was always ten steps ahead. Tonight was proof of that. He’d left a trail to Berlin and was able to attack her in Paris. Maybe he even banked on her and Beckett not taking the bait and that was how he’d gotten her this time.

She wondered, briefly, if Final Death would be as scary as her first death. The first time she’d died, she’d died in terror, mauled to death in a back alley in Hollywood. Would any death measure up to that? Truly? Maybe it would be easier to just embrace it, to die once more and have it all come to an end on her own terms-

She jolted herself from the thought, the Beast riling up in fear and for good reason.

Not once had Evie entertained the idea of ending her own life. Not even after running away from home, when she’d been at her lowest and most frightened. Back then, the idea of dying scared her so much that suicide never even crossed her mind. Yet the fact that it had came to her so casually just now…

The idea of the idea becoming normal to her was, frankly, terrifying. 

But she said nothing to Beckett. She didn’t need him worrying or, worse, thinking she was making a bigger deal out of this mess than necessary. Instead she kept her head pressed against the window and curled her feet up onto the seat. Which drew her attention to the folded note in her boot.

She frowned and tugged it out, careful not to tear it. She could feel Beckett’s gaze turn to her, but she ignored him and unfolded the paper to read the note. The handwriting was fluid and initially tricky to read. It said,

_ Your enemy waits in Weissensee, Berlin. Don’t keep them waiting. _

“Well? Care to share?”

Evie held the note out to him wordlessly, and resumed resting her head against the window.

“They want us to go to Berlin,” she said bluntly. “We have to go.”

“And if it’s a-”

“Trap? I don’t care,” she snorted. “They know how to find me whether I stumble into their traps or not. At least they’re being up front about it this time.”

“I don’t-”

“I don’t care if you don’t want to go. If you’ve got some issue, then fine. Drop me off and I’ll handle it myself,” Evie interrupted coldly. “But Victoria didn’t tell us anything useful, and I’m not going to sit around waiting for them to come after me again. They want me to go to them, then I’ll go to them. And make them regret it.”

They lapsed into silence with Beckett staring at her gobsmacked, taking in what she’d said. Finally he sighed heavily, shook his head, and leaned back into his seat.

“Cesare, prepare a flight for Berlin when we get to the plane,” he said with an air of finality. 

Cesare confirmed the order with a typical, ‘of course, Signore’ but otherwise said nothing, leaving the air in the car suitably tense. Evie didn’t care, just stared out of the window.

If her hunters wanted her to find them, then she would. And one way or another, they would lead her to Roy, and she’d put an end to this once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments and support!! I really appreciate it and hope you've enjoyed this latest chapter :D


	15. Shattered Glass

Flugplatz wasn’t the nicest haven they’d had, but it served it purpose far better than any hotel room. Namely because it was tricky to find if you didn’t know it was there.

Evie walked along the rafters of the abandoned hanger like a balancing beam, keeping her footing steady as she focused straight ahead and not on the piles of rusty scrap awaiting her below if she fell.

But she wasn’t going to fall because she was focused on that fixed point directly ahead, and because her senses refused to pay any attention to the world outside of that point. Without it, she had too much to think about. She needed that focus or else all she would do was wallow in her own self-pity, consumed by her thoughts.

It had been two weeks since she and Beckett had arrived in Berlin, and the first thing they had done was present themselves to Prince Wolff, a Malkavian and former-Sabbat which, according to Beckett, made him antitribu. Wolff had been accommodating enough at first, but when Beckett realised that they’d acquired a tail, they gave him the slip and made themselves scarce within the city.

Hence why they were hiding out in an abandoned airport north of the city, which proved tricky to find if you didn’t know where to look for it, and occasionally had a mortal guard or two to ward away intrepid explorers.

So while it wasn’t  _ nice _ , it was functional. They could make a quick venture into the city to gather information, return to sleep for the day, and then run whatever they had gathered past Okulos and Mercurio. And, best of all, assassins would have a harder time tracking them than if they’d stayed in a hotel.

Evie continued along the beam until she reached the end, and rather than double back, she dropped down to a spot of floor that wasn’t covered in rusting scrap.

With a quick brush off, she turned and headed back to her point of entry into the hanger. While the doors were sealed shut and locked tightly, natural wear had left some holes that, while being too small for a human, were the perfect size for a skinny wolf cub.

Once she was back out in the night air, she strolled across the tarmac, keeping her eyes open for any sign of guards even if it was unlikely that there would be any about at this time of night.

The cool night air tugged at her hair, causing it to flow out behind her as she walked along with her hands in her pockets. 

The sky was clear and out of the city limits, the stars dazzled brightly in the night sky, like twinkling lights strewn across a deep, navy blue canvas, with the waxing moon hanging in the centre. The air was cold and crisp, and if she was still bothered by the cold, she would have been shivering.

Flugplatz had a collection of buildings she’d yet to explore in the time since they’d made their haven here, and while she knew she really should be getting back to their camp to help Beckett, she decided to explore some of those instead.

Her head was too full of disturbing conclusions and tangled thoughts to really focus on sorting through the previous night’s information anyway.

To say that her revelation following their departure from the Succubus Club had been haunting her was an understatement. It felt like every waking moment, it was on her mind. Even when she focused on figuring out where Roy’s agents were, it niggled away in the back of her mind, and only the complete absence of thought brought any reprieve.

As much as she was at peace with the likelihood of her Final Death, she knew that this was different. That this wasn’t right. No one should be so flippant about the idea of ending their own life.

What made it worse was the fact that she didn’t feel like she fit the image of a suicidal person. She didn’t spend all her time weeping in a corner, cutting her wrists and planning a way to put an end to her life once and for all. 

That was, in her mind, what it meant to be suicidal. To be actively seeking a way out, to so thoroughly despise oneself and one’s circumstances that they longed for an end until the thought consumed them whole. Not passively accepting the idea and vaguely entertaining the thought of ending her own life from time to time. It didn’t match what she thought she’d known.

And that was why she explored. To distract herself from her own internal conflict.

So she strolled along the runway, skipping over cracks and counting potholes in the tarmac, all while sorting through her memory of where she had and hadn’t explored already.

She’d been through most of the hangars now. They were the easiest to get into on account of the natural wear in the walls and her protean form. The other buildings were made from solid brick that had yet to give way, and the doors were sealed up tightly, even against wolf cubs.

The builders of this place had built it to last, that was for sure.

She paused in the middle of the runway and looked upwards to see a plane overhead, a tiny speck in the darkness and only distinguishable from the stars because it was moving.

“Do me a favour. Land here and run me over,” she muttered, only to wince.

Again with the morose humour that were only half jokes. They were becoming too frequent for her liking, and she glanced around.

Her eyes came to rest on the control tower, no longer in operation and overlooking the entire airport and surrounding area. And just like that, she made it her goal for the night. It was sealed up tight, and had probably been stripped of its equipment, but that didn’t really matter. What mattered was that finding her way to the top would provide a distraction.

So she made her way across the runway, eyes fixed on the tower, already running through the potential ways she could get inside. She could use her protean claws to climb up the outside, but that still left actually getting inside. The control room itself was greater in size than the walls of the tower, and while she was certain she could survive in the event she  _ did _ fall, it wouldn’t be pleasant.

‘And it’d take time to heal, which is definitely when Roy’s arseholes show up,’ she thought derisively to herself.

Her brand of bad luck would certainly allow for that, so she then considered just forcing the door open. A thought she quickly brushed off because it was boring and wouldn’t provide the stimulation she needed right now, and because the damage would attract mortal attention. There was no sense in compromising their haven just because she was bored.

She reached the base of the tower and frowned up at it. 

It looked taller up close than it had from far away. Climbing the outside was probably not an option then, not if she wanted to stay largely in one piece if she did fall. So she began to prowl around the outside of the connecting building, searching for a way in.

Back in LA, she had told Beckett that she had gotten damn good at sneaking into places she wasn’t supposed to be. He’d remarked that, once she got tired of west-end townhouses, she should try breaking into the tomb of an ancient. He’d also said to pay attention to her surroundings; to look and listen for any traps or dangers.

Well, this might not be an ancient’s tomb, but it felt like a tomb to  _ something _ . And so maybe those rules ought to still apply.

As luck would have it, there was a hole in the wall of the connecting building, just large enough for her to fit through in protean form if she wriggled enough. She shifted into the shape of the wolf cub and scrabbled at the concrete, tail wagging hard as she focused on the effort.

The inside was bare, having been stripped of whatever this place had housed once the airport had been decommissioned. All that remained were the support structures and whatever had moved in after the owners had moved out.

The ground was covered with a thick bed of moss, and cobwebs stretched from floor to ceiling, apparently undisturbed for decades. A year ago, she’d have turned and left just at the sight of those. She’d  _ hated _ spiders back then. But now she knew that there were far worse things in the world than spiders. These sorts were like cuddly kittens compared to a Tzimisce’s idea of a spider.

Still she had no desire to actually touch any of the spiders who’d taken up residence, so navigated the space between cobwebs with a great deal of care so as not to disturb them.

In addition to the moss, the ground was also covered with dead leaves and the occasional small animal skeleton. She wondered if they had been the prey of a feral cat or dog, or some other predator, or if they had simply died of other causes. Regardless, they didn’t bother her any more than the spiders did.

In such a cavernous space, sound should have echoed more as Evie made her way over the blanket of moss and accidentally stepped on one of the aforementioned skeletons. But the moss must have absorbed most of the sound because there was no loud, echoing crunch of tiny ribs splintering under her boot.

She reached the far side of the room, spider free and faced with a door that must have been boarded up on the other side, as it refused to budge and didn’t appear to be locked.

Frowning, she glanced around for any other way out of this single room, when her eyes fell on a rusted vent grate.

“Bingo,” she murmured, walking over to it.

She had less concerns about prying the grate off of the wall than she had about breaking down doors. If this room was boarded up, then the chances of anyone discovering it were slim-to-none.

There was a deafening squeal of protest before the rusted steel gave way and revealed the vent beyond.

If a human crawled in there, it would be nigh on unbreathable for all the moss and mold. So it was fortunate for Evie that she didn’t need to breathe at all as she crawled inside.

The vent was a tight fit, even for her, so she shifted back into wolf form which made the crawl considerably easier than it had been as a human. Her nose followed the scent of (relatively) fresh air, and her claws found purchase in the moss as she crawled along.

Finally, she found what she was looking for. A grate in a hallway.

As she shifted back into human form, it gave way beneath her and she landed on the tiled floor below. She straightened up and shook out her hair before pausing to get her bearings.

The hallway was relatively non-descript, and it took wandering in one direction to find some faded signage that told her that she’d been going the wrong way, and that the control tower’s access was in the opposite direction. So she doubled back the way she’d came and wondered briefly if the view from the top of the tower would be any good.

It had better be, she thought to herself, to make up for how much mold she’d crawled through to get this far.

The door leading to the tower stairway was boarded up too, and the lift was inoperable. But unlike the main hall, there wasn’t another way around, so she got to work prying the boards off one by one. She could always put them back when she was done, she just needed to make sure she didn’t damage them.

When the boards were finally gone she tried to push the door open. Predictably it was locked, and it was the kind that required a code. Typical.

She growled in frustration.

Why so much security to keep a few explorers out of an abandoned old tower? It wasn’t like there was anything left worth protecting anyway. It seemed so pointless that, against her better judgement, she snapped the whole thing off and forced the door open. It wasn’t like anyone was going to notice anyway.

Once on the stairs, she began the climb upwards.

The handrail was badly rusted and the steps were covered in moss and bits of debris, but otherwise they were relatively clear. No collapsed bits of walkway that blocked passage upwards, and they continued around and around until they stopped at the door leading to the control room itself, by which time Evie was feeling a bit dizzy.

This door, like the last, was code locked. As it happened, looking for the most worn buttons didn’t work like it did in movies and video games, so she forced the door open like the last. 

Like the room she’d first entered, the control room had been stripped as well. But, to her surprise, there was signs of trespass here. Disturbed dust and footprints in the moss, and a radio, left sitting on a table in the centre of the room.

Cautiously, her eyes darting to every shadow in the room, she approached the radio. It was intact, and looked relatively new, with a receiver and microphone, and whoever had left it seemed to have adjusted the channel already.

And there was a note taped to it. A note addressed to  _ her _ .

Evie froze, staring at it, then plunged her hand into her pocket. She pulled out the new phone that Cesare had purchased for her and dialled Beckett’s number. There was a pause before he answered.

“Having fun exploring dusty old ruins?” he jibbed to the rustling of paper in the background.

“I found a radio. Someone left it here. Recently,” she replied, ignoring the sarcasm in his tone. “They even left me a message.”

There was a pause in the rustling.

“Where is ‘here’ exactly?” he asked, sounding far more serious than he had a second ago.

“The control tower. I got in through the building its connected to, but a bunch of doors are boarded up. I had to crawl through a vent in protean form just to get inside,” she explained.

“I’ll be there soon, just stay where you are and  _ don’t use it _ ,” he instructed.

She heard him getting to his feet on the other end and heard the familiar rustling of a jacket being pulled on.

“What does the note say?” he asked.

“It says ‘ _ Evie, call us when you’re ready to meet. We have business to discuss. Don’t mess with the frequency, it’s fine as is -Leon _ .’”

She heard him growl low in his throat.

“Just wait there and we’ll see what this is all about,” he said sharply.

He didn’t hang up though, and Evie could hear him leaving the building where they’d made their camp, and track across the runway. She heard the wrenching of wooden boards, which meant he was no longer concerned with leaving signs of their being here, and then heard his footsteps on hard tiles.

“You didn’t mention that you broke locks,” he snorted after several long minutes of background noise.

“I couldn’t find another way around. And I really wanted to take a look at the view,” she replied. “Not sure if I’m pleased with what I found or not.”

“We’ll decide sooner or later,” he said bluntly.

She heard him in both the phone and from outside the door, which prompted her to finally hang up. He appeared through the door moments later, looking suitably concerned but mildly intrigued. 

It made sense. While the radio all but  _ screamed _ ‘trap!’ it was the best lead they’d had in two weeks. It also meant, however, that their temporary haven was in fact compromised, so they would be moving on, regardless of what this ‘Leon’ had to say.

They stood in front of it for a solid five minutes, staring at it like it was a bomb that might go off any moment before Beckett finally sighed.

“Ante up or go home,” he grumbled, flipping the power switch and pulling the microphone forward. “Well we’re here. What do you want?”

Evie tensed, shifting her weight from one foot to the other when her phone buzzed. She checked the screen. A text message from Mercurio with the subject reading as ‘got a lead.’

“Took you long enough. Do you Gangrel not know how to be punctual? It’s bad manners.”

She jumped out of her skin as a voice drawled through the radio. She then looked back down at her phone, opening the text from Mercurio. It was a single line of text.

_ Weissensee Abandoned Children’s Hospital, Hansastraße 180. _

“Big words for a Kindred without the stones to meet us head on,” Beckett growled, focusing on the radio rather than what Evie was doing. “Tell me what you want. Preferably before I have to snap any necks.”

Leon - presumably - tsked on the other end.

“You already know what we want. The question is, what are you willing to do about it?”

Was she imagining things, or was there a slight echo to his voice?

Beckett, on the other hand, simply glowered at the radio.

“What are you talking about?”

“My sire has an eye for talent, you see. He wanted the girl dead before, but after all of this, it’d be a pity to waste such potential,” Leon drawled, and Evie felt her insides go cold. “So he offers this: she turns herself over, and she gets to live. No more Assamites, no more attacks, no more looking over her shoulder. And you, Beckett, get to go back to your research undisturbed, and without-”

“No.”

There was a lengthy pause as Leon remained silent and Evie stared up at Beckett in wide-eyed wonder.

“I beg your pardon?” Leon hissed.

“You heard me. I said: no,” Beckett replied coldly. “I know who Roy is, and what he’s done, so if he thinks I’ll just hand Evie over after all of this, then he’s not nearly as clever as I thought.”

“I see.” There was another long pause, and Leon sighed. “I thought you were smarter than this as well, Noddist.”

“I see that this is your first time thinking. I hope you didn’t hurt yourself,” Beckett jabbed, and Leon growled.

“I tried to be reasonable, and my sire made you a perfectly good offer,” he snarled. “Just make sure that you both remember that when I tear your hearts out and show them to you.”

“I’ll do my best to keep it in mind,” Beckett replied curtly before promptly switching off the radio. Then he snorted. “Typical Brujah.”

“Beckett-”

“You’re not going back to him. I won’t allow it,” he cut over, setting a hand on Evie’s shoulder. “I promise you, Evie.”

She drew a deep, shuddering breath and nodded.

“Thank you.” She then held out her phone with the email from Mercurio. “And now we know where to find this bastard.”

Beckett took one look at the address and nodded.

“Pack up the camp and be ready to move,” he ordered, leading the way back down the stairs. “If we’re going to send Roy anything, it might as well be that brat in a box.”

[]

Dancing usually helped to take Velvet’s mind off of things, but tonight it proved no good. She stopped, unfolded her leg from the pole and stepped down off of her private stage, her mind a simmering mess of worry.

About a week ago, the Assamites had launched an attack on the Manko in Paris right in the middle of a Succubus Club party. Their target? Evie. Again. According to Victoria, no one had been seriously hurt or killed, though some Kine had suffered gunshot wounds, and Evie and Beckett had escaped in the confusion. As far as anyone could tell, they were no longer in Paris. Maybe they’d even left France altogether.

Velvet felt like she ought to be relieved that they’d escaped, but her dead heart ached for the poor girl. After all this time, and she was still wanted dead. And by a Prince, no less.

It was times like this that made her feel powerless and pathetic, when she knew she was anything but. She could have men and women alike kneeling at her feet, doing whatever she commanded without having to raise a finger. All she had to do was  _ be _ , and they would do anything for her. It was a power that blurred lines and made her very conscious of the sway she had over others, even as it came to her as easy as breathing did when she was mortal. But what good was it to have all this power in her hands when she couldn’t save one girl from such a terrible ordeal?

She sunk down onto a couch and left her hair down, running her fingers through it delicately to disentangle the knots. First Ash disappeared, and now this… Could nothing just go right for the people she cared about?

She was so consumed that she barely heard the faint knocking from around the corner.

“Velvet?” Nines called, finally dragging her out of her thoughts.

“Hm? Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart. Please, come on up.”

It was hardly the first time that Nines had come to visit her, and it wouldn’t be the last. But he didn’t come for what the typical clientele of Vesuvius came for. He was here to talk, usually about the things weighing on his mind. He didn’t really care for much else, like most Kindred, and Velvet was a good listener. 

Always sympathetic and ready to help him with his burdens without any judgement, it was a talent that made her popular with the more down-on-their-luck types that wandered into the club every night.

Nines appeared at the top of the steps, the wounds inflicted by the werewolf long since healed but the scarring on his face still faintly visible. He was wearing a leather jacket and trousers coupled with thick leather boots. He’d been out riding on his bike again, evidently.

Velvet patted the seat next to her.

“Sit yourself down, sweetheart. What did you need to talk about?”

Nines sighed heavily and hovered in the centre of the room at first, looking more exhausted than he had in nights with dark circles around his eyes, and his gaze seemed hollow. Aimless. Unfocused. 

He ran a hand over his hair, down his face, and through his beard. He scratched at his chin before he finally lowered himself down to sit opposite Velvet. He fixed her with a hard gaze.

“You heard about…?” 

He trailed off, and Velvet could see the guilt in his gaze, the way it ate away at him. He was blaming himself, somehow, for all of this, so she reached out and placed a hand on his.

“I did. But Victoria says she’s safe with Beckett. They escaped before the Assamites could do any real harm.”

He nodded, though less out of agreement and more like he was just trying to sort the idea into his head.

For a long while, neither Toreador or Brujah said a word. Just sat in silence as the music from the club hummed away, a little muffled from this distance, but audible nonetheless. Then Nines opened his mouth.

“I can’t get it out of my head,” he confessed. “I was so fucking stupid to say that. What was I even thinking?”

Velvet frowned, wrapping her fingers around his and squeezing gently.

“What do you mean, Nines?”

He sighed heavily, shifting in his seat as if trying to bear an invisible load that was pressing down hard on his back and shoulders. Considering that he was the new Baron of Downtown, and piled with all the responsibilities that implied, it wasn’t surprising. 

It wasn’t like he’d planned for things to pan out that way after all.

“The night the Venture Tower went up, me and Skelter found Evie on her way out,” he began. “She was a fucking mess, covered in ash and stinkin’ of smoke. And her face. That look in her eye. God Vel, she was fucked up. And I didn’t give a single shit about her.” 

He cradled his head in his hands, shaking Velvet’s grip loose. 

“All I cared about was getting back at the Camarilla, taking back the city from them, making sure the Anarch Freestate kept standing. And all I thought about was where Evie fit into it. How she’d be most useful.”

He lifted his head and Velvet could see the utter disgust in his eyes. And all of it directed at himself.

“Right then, I was no better than Lacroix. Or any Camarilla toady. I just thought about what I wanted, about my goal, not about the wellbeing of the Kindred standing right in front of me. The kid I saved twice…” He scoffed, lowering his head again. “I don’t blame her for hating me. If I saw someone else do that to that kid, I’d have shot ‘em…”

Velvet eyed the handgun holstered to Nines’ waist and pursed her lips carefully, weighing up the options of what to say. He wasn’t looking for reassurance that he’d been doing the right thing, but admonishment. He wanted to be scolded, to be reminded of what he fought for, and how in that moment he’d lost sight of the child in front of him in favour of the big picture. His goal. His vision. His dream.

But scolding wasn’t something Velvet liked to do if she could help it, especially when it was just kicking someone who already knew they’d done wrong. So she gave it a little thought before saying anything.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Nines. Yes, you lost sight of what mattered in that moment. Yes, you should have done better. But what matters is that you recognise that,” she said evenly. “So many people would stand by their actions no matter what. You look at what you got wrong and confess to it. That takes strength.

“None of us can control how Evie feels. That’s up to her. But you don’t need to punish yourself, it doesn’t serve any purpose. Just do better next time.”

There was a moment of silence before Nines chuckled and glanced up at her.

“You sure know how to give a pretty speech, Vel,” he remarked. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart. I just hope that there’s something we can do to make things a little easier for Evie,” she said wistfully, leaning back against the couch. “She’s been through so much…”

“Too much,” Nines agreed. 

There was another stretch of silence, longer this time, before Nines cleared his throat and rose to his feet.

“Well, I’d better get going. Plans to make, battles to fight. Shit, I wish the Camarilla would take a hint and back off already,” he sighed with a shake of his head.

“You just look after yourself, alright Nines?” Velvet said, rising to meet him. “None of us wanna see you burn yourself out.”

“I promise Vel. And thanks for your time.”

She nodded and saw him down the stairs and out of the club. She lingered in the doorway, unphased by the cold as she stared after him down the street, a hand curled over her heart.

‘God, give us a chance to help her,’ she begged, silently wondering if anyone would even care if they heard.

She received no answers, so turned and made to head back inside.

She was halfway through the doors when a sleek black car came roaring down the street, tyres squealing to a halt right outside Vesuvius with its horn honking raucously. Velvet nearly stumbled backwards, which would have been a mistake in heels, but she righted herself quickly enough to stare as Therese’s ghoul, Mercurio, stumbled out of the car in a cold sweat, his face so pale she might have mistaken him for Kindred.

“Please tell me you’ve got a way to contact the kid,” he spluttered. “My fucking accounts have been hacked.”

Velvet stared. And then what he said began to sunk in, and her initial shock swiftly made way for abject horror.

[]

The abandoned hospital was exactly that. Abandoned. 

Evie, still in wolf form, followed Beckett in crawling under the tattered chain-link fence and across the grounds. They were silent and overgrown, a wild tangle of grass, brambles, and unkempt hedges. Smashed bottles, litter, and snapped twigs were the only sign of trespassers on the property, but there were no signs of the ones they were looking for just yet.

The building itself was a ruin. Scarcely any wall was left unpainted with graffiti left by explorers and vandals, and almost every floor was covered in debris from the crumbling walls and caved-in ceilings. Bits of hospital equipment had been left abandoned, from dolleys to beds, IV stands, and old wheelchairs, all rusted beyond use. Some rooms were in better condition than others and had probably been cleared out by the graffiti artists who had painted them. Others were dilapidated beyond repair with entire sections of wall missing, or trees growing through them and moss carpeting the floor, and there were puddles left from the day’s rainfall where the roof had failed to keep it out.

All in all, it was the perfect place for urban explorers. And even better for Kindred who wanted to operate undetected. 

Evie wondered how Mercurio had tracked them to this place, but decided it was a question better left unanswered. She trusted him, but knew that he engaged in less than savoury activities. She was better off not knowing the kinds of lengths he went to. 

And now the echo on the radio made sense. A lot of the facility’s furniture had been removed when the hospital had shut down, and with the solid brick walls, a large enough room would be able to bounce sound around.

Beckett paused, sniffing the floor before whuffing softly at Evie and turning down another hall. They had to double back and go down the original hall where he’d stopped as the floor had given out and left nothing but a pit full of splintered floorboards and rusted metal.

He led the way cautiously, nose close to the ground with Evie padding along silently behind him, doing her best not to let herself be distracted by the variety of smells and sounds. But then she paused outside a door leading down yet another hall.

Maybe it was just her, but she could have sworn that she could smell cigarette smoke. It was faint but… Yes, it was definitely coming from that direction.

She barked and Beckett stopped to look at her, and he looked faintly irritated. She barked again and pawed at the door. Begrudgingly, he padded over and took a sniff, paused, and nudged the door open. 

Evie squeezed through the gap first and took another sniff. It was stronger in the corridor than it had been behind the door, and she skittered forward, trying to determine where it was coming from. Beckett caught up and nipped her on the back of the neck with a low growl.

‘Don’t run off,’ was the obvious message and Evie’s ears flattened against her head. She followed him obediently towards the smell of cigarette smoke.

When he stopped again, he shifted back into his human form and gave her a very stern look.

“Stay here and don’t come out for any reason,” he hissed. 

Evie blinked and her head cocked to one side, but he was already rounding the corner and striding down the hall. So she sat herself down, feeling vaguely frustrated.

He knew something that he wasn’t telling her, and he was still trying to keep it from her. Even if it was her life on the line and not his. And even if his intentions were good, it annoyed her. Beckett had never believe in keeping secrets before now, not unless it was purely personal. So what could possibly be so dangerous to her, that he’d rather she not know?

_ Now you only have yourself to blame when he disappoints you. _

Again Jesse’s words were intent on haunting her, and much as she tried to shake it off, she got the horrible feeling that Beckett was unknowingly setting himself up to make those words come true. And that was the last thing she wanted.

She needed to be able to trust Beckett. She wanted to trust him. All these months, and all he had done was do his best to look out for her and teach her how to survive. Even when she was frustrating, or emotional, or in the way somehow, he kept doing his best by her. She couldn’t let him make a mistake that made Jesse right.

So, against better judgement, she followed him.

[]

Beckett felt a lump forming in his throat as he stepped into the large, empty room and his eyes fell on an all-too-familiar Gangrel who had perched herself on the windowsill opposite with a cigarette held between her lips and a duffle bag at her feet. She didn’t turn to face him, but he knew she was watching him in the reflections on the window. 

Marie never kept her back to her prey, after all.

He unsheathed his claws, but kept his eyes on the shadowy corners of the room rather than solely on her. If she really was working with Roy, she wouldn’t be alone.

“Leon could have at least picked a nicer meeting spot for you,” he remarked.

“Ah Beckett. Always with the snark,” Marie snorted, still not turning to face him. “How does the little one put up with you, hm?”

Beckett’s face hardened, despite his best efforts to appear as neutral as possible. 

Well that was all the confirmation he needed. What surprised him was the fact she hadn’t lunged at him yet. He could feel the hatred radiating off of her, the desire to tear him limb from limb, but she hadn’t even budged or looked up. He’d always known Marie to be disciplined - or as disciplined as any former SS could be - but he’d expected her to  _ know _ he would find his way here eventually. 

Surely Leon didn’t expect to be able to leave a radio for them, talk to them, and then be impossible to trace? And if he had been that stupid, Marie wouldn’t be so naive. She prepared for as many eventualities as she could think of, which was usually a lot.

Yet she didn’t act. She just took a long drag of her cigarette before holding it out, giving it a tap with her gloved forefinger, and sent the ashes falling to the debris-covered floor.

“Why help Roy?” he growled. “The girl’s done nothing to you. She doesn’t even know you exist.”

“Doesn’t she? Is that why you didn’t bring her?” Marie scoffed. “You’re a coward Beckett. And a monster. Just like the little one. After all, she was behind the terrorist attack on the Venture Tower in LA. Why wouldn’t I want to destroy her before she does more harm?”

“That wasn’t her fault,” he spat. “Lacroix-”

“Yes, yes I’ve heard the stories. And I don’t care,” she interrupted. “Why should I care about the night being short one brat if it means it’s short one more monster?”

Finally she dropped her leg from the windowsill and turned to face him.

She was the traditional ideal of a German beauty - blonde hair and blue eyes with lips painted red. But there was no warmth in her face, no smiles, and no kindness. Just pure hatred for the Kindred standing in front of her, and a twisted bit of malice.

“What I’d like to know,” another voice drawled, “is  _ why  _ you didn’t bring the girl with you?”

Beckett had been correct in the assumption that Marie wouldn’t be alone then. To his left, a young-looking blonde man stepped out from the neighbouring room, dressed in a plain leather jacket, t-shirt and jeans. But Beckett knew a Kindred when he saw one, and recognised his voice as the same one from the radio.

“Because he’s afraid, that’s why,” Marie snorted. “Must you always be so dramatic, Leon?”

Leon shrugged carelessly, his eyes fixed on Beckett.

“What can I say? It’s a talent. But.” He cocked his head slightly. “I want  _ him _ to answer the question. Why not bring the girl? Isn’t this  _ her _ business?”

“I should have let her walk into another trap?” Beckett snarled. “After your little stunt in Paris, I figured it was safer to do this myself-”

“Liar!” Marie barked. “You’re just afraid of the girl learning the truth!”

He tensed, claws at the ready, and Leon picked right up on that as his lip curled a little further.

“I’d say that sounds right,” he commented, smirking. “I wonder what little Evie would think if she knew about what you did to Marie here? I hear that the Gangrel Embrace is a  _ terrible _ thing to experience, after all. Or maybe you hated her so much that you made it even worse for her.”

Beckett opened his mouth to retaliate, but it was the gentle scuff of boots on tiles and a small gasp that forced him to stop and turn to face the door.

Evie stood there, staring at him, her hands hanging limply at her sides and her jaw slack, her mouth slightly open.

There was a long silence that settled uncomfortably over the room, like a sweltering blanket that threatened to suffocate both Gangrel as they stared at one another. Beckett fumbling for explanations that would suffice, and horror slowly dawning on Evie as she took in what had been said.

“Evie-”

“Beckett what is he talking about?” she said, her voice growing thicker as she spoke.

“I thought so,” Marie scoffed. “You never told her, did you,  _ sire _ ? But then you never did like talking about me. Imagine my shock when I learned that I now have a little sister.”

“Beckett,” Evie pleaded, her eyes welling up. “What-”

“Evie, please, just. Let’s get out of here and I can explain everything.”

He reached out to her, but for the first time, she pulled away and took a step back. He could see the horror in her eyes, the horrible dawning of realisation on her face, the way her breath caught in her chest in a way that was all too human. In that moment, her horror made her so very alive compared to the rest of the undead in that room, and it chilled Beckett to know that it was directed at him.

“Do you wish to know the story, little sister?” Marie continued mockingly, her arms folded over her chest. “It was September, 1945. Our sire and I were both seeking a list of occult tomes in the possession of a Kindred named Baumgarten. Beckett wanted it for himself. I wanted to destroy it. One of us succeeded in our task, and it wasn’t Beckett. So he decided that I needed to be punished for wounding his sorry pride.

“He hunted me down, turned me into that which I hated most. And then he abandoned me, knowing what would happen. That I would be driven into maddened frenzy. That I would kill any I came across and drain them of all they had. I doubt he expected me to survive those first nights. He was wrong.”

Evie was shaking as she took another step backwards. Away from Beckett.

If he had been facing Marie, he would have seen the twisted delight on her face at the effect her words were having on the fledgling and her sire both. 

He wanted to defend himself and explain to Evie why he had done it - there was nothing to be gained from denying it now - but the words died in his throat. What could he possibly say to justify it, to make it sound less awful than how Marie had put it? 

Because she wasn’t lying. He had sired her for no greater reason than petty cruelty and put her through hell to punish her for his wounded pride; it was one of his greatest regrets; not because it was Marie, but because he had once sworn he would never pass on this curse to anyone.

Just like Evie had on the train that night, when he first took her on.

_ It’s still awful. I’d never want to do that to anyone. _

If there was one thing that never ceased to surprise him, it was the depth of Evie’s convictions and how tightly she held on to them. Principle mattered to her, and that was what made her so alive compared to other Kindred. 

Many, like Victoria Ash, considered it childish, and his endorsement of her behaviour to be spoiling her, but he didn’t see it that way. If anything, he thought of it was a huge mark of Evie’s maturity that, despite everything that had been done to her and everything she had suffered, she still deigned to treat others decently. She didn’t submit to the cycle of cruelty and abuse, refused to stand by and let it play out. 

And now Marie had revealed that he had once committed the very act that she despised, and for no greater reason than to be cruel for cruelty’s sake.

Roy had known. Damn him for knowing! Marie being his childe wasn’t a complete secret but he didn’t make a habit of boasting about it. He must have found out from someone. Maybe Wolff, or some information broker in Berlin, but someone had told Roy about the connection and he was using it to hurt Evie.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, Leon then opened his mouth and added, “it’s so fortunate that your friend Mercurio decided to be so forward with this information. As it turns out, serving my sire is far more profitable than serving Voerman.”

Another twist of the knife and whatever little colour had been left in Evie’s face drained away and her eyes widened in horror. She shook her head frantically.

“No,” she swore. “No, he wouldn’t-”

“Oh but he did. Do you really think that some second-rate ghoul could find what the Nosferatu couldn’t?” Leon laughed cruelly. “You see, girl, the Thinblood was right. You could trust Beckett and Mercurio… Trust them to let you down.”

She shook her head harder and stumbled backwards. She had to grab the doorframe to keep herself upright as Leon’s words sunk in.

“That’s enough,” Beckett snarled at Leon. “She’s done nothing to you-”

“I mean really, why else do you think Beckett refused to give you up, even if it was an easy out from this problem of his?” He continued, ignoring Beckett entirely to focus on Evie. “Roy was willing to overlook your mistakes. A Prince and Father of great power, willing to forgive you. Don’t you see. It’s because you’re valuable. Useful. If a Prince could make use of you, so could  _ he _ .”

That did it.

Beckett felt the bottom of his stomach drop abruptly and he reached out to Evie. But she didn’t let him. Instead she turned heel and bolted, the tail of the black wolf cub whipping around the corner as she fled down the hallway.

“Evie!”

He made to run after her, but there was a deafening  _ crack _ ! as Marie unloaded a shotgun shell into his back. His resilient hide shrugged off the worst of the shot, but it was surprise enough to throw him to the ground.

“I wouldn’t worry about her getting too far,” Marie said airily, holding the shotgun at her hip. “The little ones are so temperamental. And when they’re upset, they make all the mistakes that makes tracking them down much easier.”

She jerked her head and suddenly the shadows rippled and parted as the Assamite pack from the Manko appeared along the walls of the room. The Elder took point, leading her juniors from the room, drawing her weapons as she went.

Beckett would have pursued and torn into them, but Marie simply pointed the gun at him.

“Don’t worry about her. Worry about yourself,” she hissed.

He roared and launched himself at her, claws flashing as she fired the gun. It slammed into his shoulder, sending him sprawling back into the dust. Most Kindred would have been gasping in pain and would have lost precious seconds, but Beckett wasn’t most Kindred. He was resilient, and now he was furious to boot.

He was back on his feet in seconds, ready to lunge again, when Leon blocked his path. He swung hard, clocking Beckett hard in the jaw; so hard that he could only be using Potence, and Beckett was sure he felt his jaw struggling not to crack under the strain.

But even as he rolled with the punch, he shifted his weight onto one leg, and spun as Lucita had taught him, bringing his shin into the side of Leon’s head and forcing him to stagger backwards, doing his best to keep his feet.

But Beckett didn’t care about the Brujah. Every second he wasted here, Evie got further away. And Marie was right. An emotional Kindred, especially a fledgling, was prone to the kind of mistakes that got them killed very easily.

Damnit, there were probably Assamites on her tail already!

He tried to move towards the door, but Marie fired the shotgun again and he was thrown back into the dirt as the shot impacted against his arm, shards of shattered tiles and bits of rusted metal trying to bite through his hide. He was certain that he felt the bones in his shoulder beginning to seperate.

Then Leon was upon him, slamming the side of his head into the ground. The impact knocked his sunglasses askew and they dangled freely from one ear as Beckett tried to push back against the Brujah to little avail.

“I expected better, to be honest,” Leon sneered. “I heard you were tougher than this. How you and the girl avoided dying this long, I’ll never guess.”

He slammed Beckett’s head against the concrete again, and this time the sunglasses splintered and cracked.

“But if it’s this easy, I imagine we’ll be done before the night is even ov- ARGH!”

Beckett had wriggled his arm free and sunk his claws into Leon’s ribs, wrapped his fingers around the bone and then pulled. Hard. So hard that the ribs broke through the surface, crunching horribly in Beckett’s hand, the warm vitae spilling down his arm and splattering onto his face.

Leon tried to pull away, but yelped as his ribs pulled, and Beckett managed to plant his foot against Leon’s chest, and kicked him in Marie’s direction.

The ribs tore free and Leon screamed as his gut opened up and began to spill its contents out on the floor. But Beckett didn’t care. He took the momentary confusion as his chance.

Marie kicked Leon out of the way and fired the shotgun again but Beckett was already sprinting out of the door, his head throbbing painfully as he focused on one thing and one thing only: finding Evie before anyone else did.

He dove forwards onto all four paws and took off at a gallop.

He had to find her first.

He had to.

[]

Leon stopped to lean against a graffiti’d wall, clutching at his still-healing torso. Marie raised a brow, feeling almost disappointed with how little progress he’d made with healing himself. His bones and dead, grey guts were now hidden beneath a new layer of skin, but for him to still be in pain, it was clearly a slow process.

She found herself distinctly unimpressed, considering all Roy had told her and how much the Brujah loved to boast; his plan to lure them to the hospital in the first place hadn’t even  _ worked _ . If it hadn’t been for Manse’s backup plan to pose as the girl’s informant friend, it would have been another night wasted as her sire and ‘sibling’ stumbled through the city blindly, searching for leads as she, Marie, was forced to sit in hiding, waiting for prey that was taking its sweet time.

And now, after all of that, Beckett had overpowered Leon and escaped as easy as breathing. 

Incompetence. She knew she shouldn’t have put so much faith in his abilities. What a waste.

“Why didn’t you stop him?!” Leon snarled, not turning to face Marie as she paused a little ways behind him. “I thought you wanted him dead!”

“I do,” she said bluntly. “Would you have preferred if I shot him through you?”

He snarled and it reminded Marie of a petulant child blaming others for their own mistakes. Also disappointing. She’d been assured that she would be working with professionals, and while the Assamites were exactly that, Leon was not.

“Just remember to hold up your end of the bargain,” he spat. “We help you kill Beckett if you help to kill the girl.”

“Of course. But now that I’ve seen you in action, I’ve had to reconsider some of the terms of our arrangement.”

He came to a halt but didn’t get the chance to whirl around before Marie pulled the stake from her bag, which she then dropped to the floor, seized him by the shoulder and slammed him into the wall, the stake’s tip pressed to his chest, right above his heart. Poised and ready to paralyse with a single thrust.

His face was a mixture of shock, fury, fear, and revulsion. If there was one thing she could still take pleasure in in this twisted mockery of life, it was the fear her quarry felt when they realised they were going to die. Let the revolting little beast realise its unlife was about to end, let it fear the inevitable, and let it suffer as she had suffered.

“I’m a hunter. My job is to hunt monsters,” she said coldly. “You’d just get in my way, so I think I’ll be rid of you now rather than later. Besides, it’s not like you’ll be around to tell on me.”

She enjoyed the way they twisted and writhed as the stake sunk through their dead flesh. Their fear was captured, frozen in time, as it pierced their hearts, and Leon was no exception. He had howled in rage and tried to lunge at her, fangs flashing as his hands nearly fastened around her throat. 

But he froze before he could follow through on his unspoken threat. The stake stuck through his chest, the tip glistening with vitae as his face was preserved in its twisted, furious horror. 

She had to break his fingers to step free, which she decided to do slowly, one by one, so Leon could realise just how helpless he was.

Even when frozen, she could see the fear drowning out the fury and indignation. It was almost a shame to part his head from his shoulders and see it crumble into ash, but she did what needed to be done.

The night was rid of one more monster. And if she had her way, it would be rid of a few more before the week was out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for your comments!!


	16. Interlude

_ The world is bloody red and so very cold, but It is unphased. It knows the cold well from the long dreamless sleep It had endured before awakening. To It, the frigid cold of this place is but a summer breeze. _

She shivers as the cold crawls over her body, but does she even have a body here? Where is here? 

_ It runs her hands over the gutted carcass of some large creature that dangles from the ceiling, but the precious blood is gone from it. Gutted and bled. Useless. She- no It smells them before It sees them because It cannot see them at all. The smell is all there is. A familiar tang of oil. _

Part of herself recoils, but she only vaguely remembers why. Memory itself is vague and she considers letting herself slide back into the nothing. To go back to not being just for a little while longer.

_ A cacophony of shrieks are accompanied by an explosion of flame, and It shrieks too. The hot burns even at a distance, its purifying tongues threatening to wash over It and devour It until nothing is left. This form is fragile. And it is Its only means of existence. It had to protect it at all costs. _

But why, she wonders. What was the point in protecting herself when the nothing was so much more welcoming than what she longed to forget? Existing for existence’s sake? Even with a thimble of conscious memory, she knew that it was pointless and miserable.

_ It flees the flames, ripping through those who stand in Its way. The elder, the younger, the one in the flannel shirt. They all die and crumble as their ancient flesh sloughs and crumbles from their ancient bones. Its desire to survive is stronger than their’s and It flees for some new corner in which to hide. _

But why hide? What was the point? What did It hope to achieve as it wore her skin? Mindless destruction? To feed and slaughter wherever it went? What was the point in that? Why did it think that she would allow that?

_ It hisses as its control begins to wane and she begins to claw her way back from the void. It pushes her down. _

_ Sleep, it commands. Sleep and I will protect us. _

She didn’t want to be protected though. Not if all it ensured was a misery of an existence where only death follows her.

Bit by bit she returns to herself, the nothing still clinging to her mind, unwilling to surrender her and the Beast unwilling to surrender its control as it realised that her goal was opposed to its own.

_ Stop, It commanded. You cannot- You will not- _

But she will she decides as the pounding of her feet on the pavement becomes her choice and not that of the Beast’s. She would do what needed to be done, to free herself of this unending nightmare.

She would find a place and lay her eyes on the break of dawn one last time, and she would be free.

The Beast’s howling is silenced in an instant and though she is drained and exhausted from the sheer assertation of her will, Evie picks her path and follows it.

Once and for all, she will be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments on the last chapter; I've had it sitting in my mind for ages and it's gone through so many different drafts, so I'm so relieved that it was so well received (though honestly, I'm really blown away with how well this whole fic has been received, so this is a huge bonus for me)!!  
> I hope that you enjoy the next chapter as much when it goes live, I just figured I'd provide a little interlude in the meantime.


	17. Realignment

It took him nearly three weeks to track Evie down. Three weeks of wandering from one pile of ashes to another, through back alleys, abandoned factories, and even an abattoir at one point, and he silently hoped that he found her at the end instead of some Assamite or worse. But her scent always persisted, so he had the believe that the trail that he followed was her’s.

Beckett wandered along the street, heightened senses telling him that he was getting close. And that was fortunate, seeing that dawn was less than an hour away. With any luck he’d find her tucked up in a burrow safely, though he wasn’t about to place his bets on that.

Finally he came to the edge of a small, disused old park with a rusted perimeter fence and rundown playground. A fine coating of ash and blood covered the gate that he pushed open with a loud metallic squeal, and the Elder’s weapons lay in the dirt, discarded and forgotten.

But Evie didn’t react. She just stood in the middle of the grass, staring up at the sky.

Except she wasn’t really all there anymore. From the moment he saw her, he could tell that she was at the brink of surrendering control completely and utterly to the Beast… if she hadn’t already. 

She’d lost her jacket and beanie somewhere along the way, and her hair hung loosely down her back, matted with mud and blood. Her shoulders sagged as her gaze remained fixed on the sky which made her arms look longer than they really were, and her hands and forearms were covered with a fine down of inhuman hair. From her fingers had sprouted long claws which were caked with blood, yet even from here he could see the hollowness of her cheeks and the sunkenness of her eyes. 

She’d frenzied but hadn’t fed, meaning that either she’d regained control fast enough to avoid tearing into some poor mortal’s throat or, more likely,the Beast had been busy driving her to flee rather than to feed.

That was fortunate. She was dealing with enough without having another innocent life on her hands.

But to think that she hadn’t fed in that time either. Three weeks… It had to be the longest she’d ever gone without, and that made this situation even more precarious. An underfed vampire, even a fledgling, was incredibly dangerous. One wrong move and she would be lost to the Beast. And Beckett was the most immediate source of sustenance.

At first she didn’t react to his presence. There was no way that she didn’t know he was there though. In her current state, her senses were no doubt heightened enough that she probably knew he was coming from a mile off. But she remained motionless, facing east. Like she was waiting for something.

If he wasn’t very much aware of the time, he’d wonder what could possibly have possessed her to stand and stare into the distance when Marie and the Assamites were scouring the city for her. Instead he felt something very icy slide into the pit of his stomach.

“Evie,” he called tentatively, though he kept a relatively safe distance. Just in case.

“Go away.”

Her voice was a rasp and the way she said it was loaded with something far more substantial than the typical sulking of an angry teen. Still, he took a tentative step forwards.

“I can’t do that Evie.”

“Yes you can,” she growled lowly. “You turn around, walk away, and leave me alone.”

He took another step forwards.

“Evie, dying here won’t fix anything-”

He then dodged out of the way of the torn plank of wood that Evie had ripped free from a nearby bench and hurled at him.

“And neither will taking it out on me, for that matter,” he muttered curtly.

“I TOLD YOU TO LEAVE ME ALONE!” she shrieked as she tore off another bit of bench and threw it at him.

He ducked again and the iron-wrought arm rest sailed over his head, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.

“Evie, the sun will be up soon,” he said firmly. “I’m not going to just let you commit suicide because you’re upset about something that happened sixty years ago-”

This time she didn’t bother with the remainder of the bench. Instead she lunged at him, claws flashing as she aimed for his throat. 

If it were any other Fledgling he would roll his eyes and humour them. But this was Evie, and she had killed a lot of Kindred, Cathayans, and even a werewolf. She was undoubtedly dangerous, especially if she had indeed just surrendered to the Beast.

As he jerked out of her path, her claws just barely clipped the underside of his jaw. Not quite enough to draw blood but it was closer than he had anticipated. He unsheathed his own claws and deflected her’s away, but then she caught his hand in her own, dug her claws in right between the bones - as if she was _trying_ to make it as painful as possible, which she probably was - and then slashed at his gut, tearing his shirt. It didn’t help that her claws held a potence not dissimilar to his own. Had he the mind to process that information at that precise moment, he’d have guessed that she couldn’t be that much lower in generation than he was.

As it was, he was a little more concerned with keeping the younger Gangrel from ripping his hand off, and from keeping himself from ripping her arm off in retaliation.

With his free hand he grabbed her wrist and sunk his own claws in with a sharp pang of guilt as he tried to force her to free his hand. But either she didn’t notice the pain or she just didn’t care because her fingers just clenched tighter, forcing the claws in deeper until he was pretty sure they had pierced through his palm now and- Yes, they were definitely sticking out of his palm now. He could feel the blood running down his sleeve.

“I DON’T _CARE_ WHAT HAPPENED! YOU’RE JUST LIKE ALL THE REST!” she screamed, pushing back against him, forcing him to dig in to avoid being shoved backwards. “YOU USE AND YOU KILL AND DO WHATEVER YOU WANT TO PEOPLE JUST BECAUSE YOU _CAN_!”

It was all he could do to keep the Beast in check, to not allow it to retaliate. If he did that, if he hurt her... he would never forgive himself.

“I WAS AN _IDIOT_ TO THINK YOU WERE ANY DIFFERENT FROM THE REST OF THEM!”

With her free hand she wrenched upwards through his abdomen and he only just caught her wrist as she clawed at his ribs like she was doing her damndest to tear them out… 

Actually he was pretty sure that was exactly what she was trying to do, and then quickly became absolutely certain when she yanked and he felt them popping out of place against his spine, and he couldn’t quite stifle the gasp of pain that passed his lips. 

So this was how Leon had felt back in the hospital. If the Brujah hadn’t been trying to kill him, he might have felt bad.

“I HATE YOU! I HATE ALL OF YOU!” she shrieked, bloody tears streaming down her face. “SO JUST LEAVE. ME. ALONE!”

She planted a foot against his chest and kicked back, releasing his hand and ribs as she did so and sent him flying back into the dirt. He lay there for a second, gasping in pain as he focused the blood into realigning the bones in his hand and forcing his ribs back into place. 

It had been a choice, he reminded himself in an attempt to quell the raging Beast inside. He had made a choice to hold back so he didn’t hurt her. This pain was a choice, and he wasn’t going to retaliate.

The Beast was unhappy. It wanted to lash out, to rip and tear, to show this insolent child who wasn’t even a fraction of his age what it meant to wound an elder. But he enforced his will, asserted his dominance over it and it wasn’t given its way. Instead he lay there, cobbling himself together as quickly as possible before Evie could strike again.

But she didn’t seem interested in doing so. 

In fact, by the time he was able to sit up and largely ignore the burning sensation in his hand and torso, he realised that she had returned to her vigil, facing east and waiting for the blasted sun to rise. 

In the space between them was now a spattering of fresh blood - his blood - covering the grass and dirt. She hadn’t quite been frenzying, he recognised that now. She’d given the Beast just enough reign to work out some of its frustration on him without surrendering herself entirely. 

At least he’d taught her well enough in that regard.

Part of him - the Beast part still - wanted to get up, stomp over there, and give her a rough shake until she saw sense, got over this ridiculous teenage angst, and followed him to safety for the day. And maybe take an ear off as a warning.

But the more human part knew better than to think that any of that would help. 

This went far beyond a bit of typical angst and teen drama. Angst didn’t make a person - least of all a child - stand and wait for something that they knew would kill them when it finally arrived. This was years of torment and abuse and fear finally coming to a head and forcing itself to be dealt with in the most extreme way it could: by making itself non-existent in an instant. And averting its course required a gentle manner of approach that he wasn’t quite certain he was capable of. 

‘Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve tried something without a clue of whether or not I could do it,’ he thought to himself as he staggered to his feet.

“Evie,” he called gently, his ribs twinging still.

She didn’t respond. Her claws didn’t even flex. He checked his watch. Forty-five minutes til daybreak. He needed her to come down from this emotional peak and get her to safety before then.

So he took another step forward, and hoped it didn’t elicit another violent response.

“Evie… You know this doesn’t fix anything.”

“I told you to leave me alone,” she said hoarsely, with a surprising amount of control considering the fact she’d nearly torn his ribs out and kicked him across the park just minutes ago.

“You know I can’t do that. Let me help you,” he urged gently.

“I don’t _want_ your help.”

He drew a deep breath, more to keep the Beast quiet than anything, though his ribs protested.

“I know. You’re angry because you think that something I did decades ago makes me someone you don’t know,” he said evenly, taking another step closer. “Yes, what I did to Marie was unforgivably cruel. And yes, I regret it. It was a rash decision that I made because she inadvertently hurt me.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” she spat. “You murdered her, then left her to kill. Being pissed off doesn’t justify _that_.”

And he knew that. 

While Beckett had few regrets that had stayed with him in the long years of his unlife, Marie’s Embrace was one that had stuck. He didn’t even have the excuse of being young and reckless. He’d been over two hundred years old by then. He should have controlled himself better, remembered the promises he’d made to himself all those years ago.

But somehow it was all the more damning hearing it coming from her. In some respects, she reminded him of himself back in his first nights; the lack of patience for politics and pomp, the steadfast refusal to engage in casual cruelty, and the absolute certainty that he would not descend to the level of others.

He had failed himself on more than one occasion, with some occurrences being more intentional than others. But if those failures could help Evie to keep her own promises, then maybe they were worth making after all.

So he drew another deep breath, steadying himself.

“You’re right. It doesn’t. But I can’t change what I’ve done. Believe me, if I could, I would.”

Silence. 

He stepped closer.

“What matters right now is that I want to help you, Evie,” he pressed. “Dying won’t change anything. It certainly won’t make it better.”

“There are worse things than dying. I would know. I’ve been living it,” she spat bitterly over her shoulder, eyes still red with tears.

“But it doesn’t _need_ to be like this. It’s not the life you hate, Evie, it’s the way you’ve been forced to live it. No child should have to become a killer just to survive. But if you let me help you-”

“I SAID I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP!”

She whirled around, snarling at him, but this time she didn’t launch herself forwards, didn’t bare her claws to sink them into his flesh again. Instead she seized whatever was closest and threw them as she stormed left and right in front of him, now without any real focus on him. The Beast was having at it on whatever it could find, still teetering on the edge of an all out frenzy.

“I’VE HAD ENOUGH! I’M SICK OF ALL THIS! I WANT OUT! I DON’T WANT TO BE HERE ANYMORE!”

More than once he had to duck out of the path of bits of flying debris as she tore through whatever was in her way, but still he continued his slow, measured approach.

“YOU STAND THERE AND SAY THAT YOU WANT TO HELP BUT YOU CAN’T! YOU CAN’T HELP ME! NO ONE CAN!”

Closer now, close enough that she was within arm's reach. But he didn’t reach for her immediately.

“I’M SICK OF BEING USED! I’M SICK OF PEOPLE DYING AROUND ME! I’M SICK OF BAD THINGS HAPPENING WHEREVER I GO! I WANT IT TO STOP! I WANT IT TO END! I WANT IT TO BE OVER!”

At some point in the screaming she stopped being coherent as blood poured from her eyes and she only put up a paltry defense as Beckett closed the gap between them and pulled her into his arms.

He counted one attempt to push him away before she finally crumpled against him, sobbing into his chest. It was a very ugly cry and he could hardly blame her. It was a lot to deal with, and no creature - living or unliving - could possibly muster grace in such a state. He rested his head on top of her’s, one arm around her lower back and the other cradling the back of her head, holding her as close to him as physically possible. 

Claws curled into his shirt, anchoring her to him, and she just cried, occasionally babbling something incomprehensible between the tears that he didn’t even try to understand. She didn’t need him for that right now. What she needed was for him to be a safe place where she could weather out the storm, and damn it, he was going to be that place if it was the last thing he did.

And while he would have let her have as long as she needed, he remained very aware of the fact that they were against the clock with just over half an hour until dawn, and they needed to find a safe place to sleep sooner rather than later. So, a little reluctantly, he peeled himself away.

“Listen. I know you need more time to clear your head of all of this,” he said gently, placing his hands on either side of her neck, angling her head so that she had to look at him. “But we need to find shelter and get some blood in you before you end up sucking anyone dry. Once we’ve done that, you can cry all you need. Okay?”

She stared at him like he was speaking in a different language, but she nodded stiffly nonetheless.

“Good. Now come on.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her around, leading her back out of the park. Any semblance of resistance had crumbled and she clutched at his coat as he led her out of the wreckage of the park.

[]

The last blood pack hit the floor, completely drained. Evie huddled in the corner of the cellar, her hands still more resembling Beckett’s than her own with their sharp talons and fine down of hair, though her eyes were no longer pouring with tears. She wasn’t looking at Beckett, but he decided he was okay with that for now. She had let him bring her here, which was better than he could have hoped for.

He had half expected that he would have had to take her down and drag her to safety. He was relieved that hadn’t been the case, even if his ribs and Beast still disagreed.

Once he finished inspecting the cellar, ensuring they would remain safe and undisturbed for the day, he dropped into the spot beside her. She didn’t react at first but he opened an arm, offering for her to move closer.

She didn’t budge, and her head turned a little further away from him in clear rejection.

So he dropped the arm and hung his head. For a long time he didn’t say anything, debating whether or not to leave it until the following night. 

But Evie was dealing with a lot. Discovering that Marie was his childe, Mercurio’s apparent betrayal, and Leon’s claims that the only reason Beckett had refused Roy’s ‘offer’ was so that he could use Evie to further his own goals…

He had to say something.

“I know you’re angry with me. With everyone and everything. And you have every right to be,” he said heavily. “But you are my childe. I don’t care if we don’t share blood. You know that’s never mattered to me. I want to do whatever I can to make things right for you, and…”

He hesitated, not knowing if what he was about to say would make things better or worse. 

‘There are worse things you could say,’ a little voice pointed out, which was true, so he decided that, sod it, it couldn’t make things much worse than they already were.

“I do what I do, not because I hope you’ll become useful someday like most sires do, but because I love you, like you were my own flesh and blood-” there was a sharp intake of breath “-and I don’t want your entire existence to only be worse than death itself. It can be better than that.”

Evie said nothing, didn’t look at him or move, just kept her arms wrapped firmly around her knees and her eyes fixed on the wall beside her. He couldn’t quite decide if that was good or bad, but she wasn’t trying to rip his throat out so it probably wasn’t all bad.

For a long while neither vampire said anything, and somewhere deep inside of himself, Beckett knew the sun was rising. But even as his body demanded sleep, something kept him from slipping away just yet, and Evie was clearly no different.

So they sat in silence. It was strangely companionable, circumstances being what they were. But then, finally, Evie spoke.

“Why did you do it?”

The harsh, accusing note in her voice stung, and the Beast growled, but Beckett refused to relinquish his grip. She had a right to be angry. He had kept this from her rather than simply telling the truth from the very beginning.

He rested his head against the wall, eyes fixing on a single crack in the concrete above.

“Marie already told you why,” he said bluntly. “She wounded my pride, and in my anger, I sought to punish her with that which she hated the most.”

“So you Embraced her.”

“I did. And I’ve always regretted it.” He paused. “When you said on the train, that you never wanted to Embrace anyone-”

“And I don’t,” she snarled.

“I told myself the same thing once, when I was young. I swore I would never sire a single Kindred, that I would never pass on this curse as it was passed on to me. And for two hundred years, I kept that promise. I never sired a single childe who would be left to kill and slaughter with little chance of survival.

“And then one day I did. And all over a stupid list of books.”

He stared straight ahead, a strange sense of sobriety sinking in as he reflected to that night in Berlin. Stalking the one who had slighted him, wounded his pride, and whom he was determined to see pay. His intention had been only to kill her in the beginning, to let her suffer before she faded from the world. 

But then, somewhere along the way, the plan had changed. He didn’t know if his control of the Beast had slipped or if he’d made the decision to go back against his own word on his own accord. He supposed it didn’t really matter. Whether a failure in control or a failing of his own principles, it was done, and Marie had been reborn as that which she despised most, to suffer for every night she lingered before her final death.

“And that’s why,” he forced himself to continue, “I teach you the way I do. It’s why I want you to learn how to discipline yourself, to master your self-control. If I had to make those mistakes myself, then they can damn well serve a purpose in making sure that you don’t.

“You have the potential to be far better than I am, Evie. It’s why I took you in that night. It’s why I train you. You might not be able to change the way the world is, but you fight it, and that’s more than a lot of people do. It’s certainly more than I do.”

There was a long silence where it seemed like Evie wasn’t going to speak or comment on anything he’d said. He even thought for a second that she’d fallen asleep, finally overcome by the rising sun, before she spoke. Her voice was so quiet that he had to focus hard to actually catch what she was saying.

“When I was little, Jacob liked to tell me stories,” she whispered hoarsely. “They’d be about all sorts of people. Heroes. Helping people, making things better, making sure no one had to be scared like we were scared. I liked those stories.”

Beckett said nothing, but gave her his undivided attention, even as his eyes burned for sleep.

“When we got older, the stories changed. Bad things happened, and the heroes didn’t always win, and when they did, things still weren’t just _good_. I asked him why the stories had to be like that. Why they couldn’t always be happy. 

“He told me that if being good was easy, then everyone would do it, and the stories wouldn’t matter. They mattered because you had to fight to be good, and you had to keep fighting or else evil would win. I thought I understood what that meant back then, but now…”

Finally she lifted her head and her eyes were welling with tears again, fat drops of blood slowly dripping down her cheeks as she looked up at Beckett mournfully, and something in his chest twisted painfully at the sight of it.

“I’m so tired of fighting, Beckett,” she whispered.

He didn’t pause to think, just wrapped his arms around her and drawing her into his side as her narrow frame was wracked with sobs. He held her close as her anger finally slipped away, whether because some part of her had forgiven him or because she simply didn’t have the strength to keep being angry. 

He hadn’t been joking before, when he’d said that he’d been hugged more in the last few months than he had in centuries. It had been strange at first, but he went with it because Evie seemed to seek out physical affection, and he wanted her to feel safe in his presence. But now he was beginning to remember why the gesture seemed so very human, and was therefore very alien to most Kindred over a certain age.

It was trusting that the other person wouldn’t slip a dagger between your ribs from behind, or wasn’t just trying to worm something of use out of you. 

It was intimacy, tender and gentle and sometimes playful so far as Evie was concerned. Affection given in either a slither or a log.

And it was simple. A tiny act that required very little, yet could say a great deal.

Evie had never hesitated in sharing her affection with him. She was as comfortable hugging him as she was with exchanging quips, and considering her history, that alone struck him as astounding. That in spite of everything she had been through and having been given no reason to give of her trust and affection so easily, she still shared it with him. 

Maybe because she’d taken the word of a Malkavian Thinblood more seriously than most Kindred would. He knew from personal experience that a Malkavian’s tangled words and strange prophecies were worth sifting through for the grains of insight that they provided but Evie had never met a Malkavian before Rosa, knew nothing about them, and had been under no obligation to heed her prophecies or take them seriously. 

Yet she had, and she had given Beckett her trust and affection freely, and expected nothing but common decency in return.

If he had been honest with her, if he had confessed to having Embraced Marie, would things have been different? Would she still be disgusted and appalled, or would she have appreciated his willingness to confess to a rash decision made in the heat of anger?

It was too late to find out now, but the fact she had come with him willingly, the fact that she was accepting his affection even now, meant that maybe things weren’t broken beyond repair. He still had the chance to make things right. 

So, very gently, he eased her away as the worst of her tears passed but kept his hands on her shoulders.

“I know you’re tired. But you don’t need to fight alone,” he pressed. “You have me, and believe it or not, you do have other friends, and they want to help you too.”

He thumbed away a bloody tear that dribbled down her face as she dropped her head and shook it.

“Yes, you do. And you’re stronger than you know, Young One,” he added. He then reached into his satchel and pulled out a journal that wasn’t his. He thumbed it open and Evie stared at it, clearly surprised. Then she pouted.

“Told you not to look in my stuff,” she mumbled thickly, wiping her eyes on her sleeves.

Beckett just smiled wryly as he found what he was looking for. A pure white lotus, pressed between the pages.

“Do you remember what this represents?” he asked, holding out the dried flower.

Evie hesitated as the flower was gently placed into her hands and she stared at it, running a thumb over its crisp white petals, as if recalling the night he’d tucked it behind her ear.

“Strength and power,” she murmured after a few moments, not looking up to meet Beckett’s gaze. But he nodded regardless.

“The night I gave you this, I said that you have both of those qualities in abundance. And while I know that they’ve been tested to their limits, it’s still true,” he said, rubbing his thumbs over the backs of her hands, holding them open with the lotus resting on top. “It doesn’t hurt to have a little extra. Or to ask for a little help.”

For the first time all night, the ghost of a smile appeared momentarily on her lips. It came and went so quickly Beckett couldn’t be certain that he didn’t imagine it, but it was a better outcome than any other he could have expected all night.

Then finally she raised her gaze to meet Beckett’s and mumbled, “thank you.”

He simply smiled as she slipped the lotus back into her journal, which she held in her lap as she leaned into his side. He wrapped an arm tightly around her shoulders and rested his head on top of her’s as the drowsiness finally began to wash over him.

“You’re welcome, Young One,” he yawned, before finally they both fell fast asleep.

[]

“We’ve confirmation?” Roy asked coolly, eyeing the monitor before him.

“I’m afraid so, Father,” Victoria replied hesitantly. “It would appear that Beckett succeeded in destroying Leon before escaping the hospital. Marie provided a rather thorough account of events.”

He clicked his tongue in displeasure and his childe fell suitably silent, inclining her head. But he reigned himself in before the Beast could assert itself any further. Victoria hadn’t been present. She wasn’t at fault. And while Marie’s account was suspect at best, the hunter was still their best bet at tracking down their prey.

“What of the girl? Have the Assamites made any further progress?” he asked, keeping his voice carefully even.

“Their most recent reports conclude that two nights ago, she frenzied and killed most, if not all of her pursuers before regaining herself. She then fled and there’s been no sign of her since.”

In the seat midway down the left side of the table, Lisa seemed to perk up a little. 

Roy had noticed that the poor dear had been rather despondent since returning from LA, which he could sympathise with. Heather had, after all, been her childe, and a childe was a very valuable thing for any Kindred to possess; they were a potential asset, and a potential legacy. The actions of a childe reflected on the sire, and there was much to be gained from a well-educated and properly trained childe. Their loss at the hands of another could be distressing.

Even more so if it was ordered of the sire to destroy their own progeny. And for that, Roy had made Lisa many promises regarding any future childer she might sire; namely that they would not serve as tools to be used and thrown away. They would make themselves useful, but they would be valued in a way that Heather had not been.

“Maybe she’s dead,” Lisa hissed spitefully. “With any luck, the Red Fear drove her to the sun and we don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

“That or she allowed the sun to take her, after regaining control following the frenzy,” Victoria suggested. “If there’s one thing to learn, it’s that the girl does not enjoy consequences.”

“Either way, she’s dealt with,” Lisa replied haughtily. “And serves her right.”

Roy didn’t respond or remark. Lisa’s feelings were not misplaced, but her certainty was. This was the girl who avoided certain death more than once; first when the Neonate Prince had granted her a stay of execution, and time and time again she’d proven difficult to be rid of.

If he weren’t so hellbent on seeing her pay for all that she had done to him, he’d have seriously considered bringing her under his tutelage. In another world, she’d have been an excellent student to have.

But in this world she was vermin, and vermin needed to be eliminated. Such a shame that Sebastian had lacked the stones to go against the wishes of some Anarch thug and didn’t just get it over with. It would have accomplished the desired effect, of the fledgling dying twice in pure terror. 

But, he supposed, this way he could string things out more, even if there was more uncertainty surrounding current events. It was a good bit of mental stimulation that he’d been lacking for some time.

“Father?”

He blinked and realised he’d descended into a reverie. He smiled at Victoria, who seemed a little antsy, and Lisa who was still glowering. She’d yet to learn how to hide her facial expressions properly. The side effect of youth. He’d have to remind her of the importance of etiquette when this business was finished.

“My apologies, dear. It seems I drifted off a little just now.”

“Of course, Father. I asked what your orders are in the meantime,” Victoria stated, relaxing back into her cool, neutral position.

He paused to turn his ideas over in his mind. 

There was, of course, every chance that the girl had succumbed to the Red Fear and met her end at the hands of the sun, or that she’d taken her own life. It wasn’t unheard of for many young Fledglings to do so when they proved ill-equipped for unlife. But he wasn’t investing any money in chance. And besides, the Noddist had taken something of his too now.

He would have to pay for that slight, intended or not.

“Continue to work with our hunter friend, but be watchful. Just in case.” He smiled grimly. “They can be of an… unreliable stripe.”

There was an unspoken instruction there; to be prepared in case Marie turned and tried to destroy her once the girl and Noddist were dealt with.

Victoria caught it immediately and nodded her head.

“Of course Father. We will determine the fate of the girl and update you as soon as possible.”

“Very good. Oh, and a slight revision. I want the Noddist dead for myself too. Tell Marie that she will receive a significant reward for disposing of him in addition to the destruction of the girl.”

Victoria didn’t question or look the slightest bit confused. She just nodded and the screen above her usual seat flickered off, leaving Roy and Lisa to sit in silence. He gave her a gentle smile, which forced her pouting glower to waver.

“I know you are upset, my dear. But it will all be worth it soon,” he said calmly. “And once this is over, you may sire any childe of your choice.”

“I know Father… I just…” She shook her head. “Delilah, then Heather, and now Leon… How many more will have to die before this is over?”

“Oh my darling, I know this is hard for you,” he said, rising to his feet and strolling down the length of the table so that he was standing behind her. “Your passion for life, your love of your family, both are admirable. And I hate that you suffer so. But you have my word, the only ones to die from now on will be Evelyn and Beckett.”

He then clasped a hand to her shoulder, forcing her to look back up at him as he smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. As always.

“If you wish, their ashes will be your’s. To do with as you see fit. And perhaps we will build a memorial to your dear childe, to remind us of the sacrifices that they forced us to commit.”

Lisa said nothing in response, simply nodded.

“Yes Father.”

[]

Cesare loved his master, he really did. But sometimes it was all too easy to resent him. Since joining Beckett in his travels, Cesare felt as if a veil had been pulled from his eyes, and he could see the claw marks of monsters on every corner of the world, shadows he hadn’t even known existed, and how many lives were wasted thanks to the machinations of the creatures whose blood he now craved.

He’d been aware of Marie, and he had known why Beckett was so resistant to the idea of coming to Berlin. He had tried to persuade his master into telling Evie the truth, tried to make him see that if she did learn and it wasn’t from him, her trust in him would shatter. Beckett had refused and carried on as he always did.

It had worked out about as well as Cesare had expected it to. Three weeks and four days, and still he’d received no word from Beckett that Evie had been found and was safe. And now he had other ghouls to contend with.

They hadn’t attacked him yet. Every few nights a small handful of them, with their groups varying from two to five individuals at a time, had approached the plane, as if intending to board, but they were always easily chased off once Cesare made it clear that he knew they were there and that he was armed.

Had they been Kindred, it was unlikely it would have been half so easy to run them off, so he concluded they must have been ghouls who were uncertain as to how much of a threat he really was.

One of the benefits of Beckett’s demands for privacy was that he, Cesare, was something of an unknown to other Kindred and thus difficult to gage.

Cesare rose from his seat in the cockpit and peered out of the window. There they were again, crossing the tarmac.

At this distance it was hard to make out any features. There appeared to be only two of them tonight, but he reached for his pistol anyway as a precaution. While part of him hoped that it would be Beckett and Evie, finally back safe and sound, he’d seen enough to know that hope was not the best thing to put much stock in.

So he watched as the pair drew closer and closer. And then his heart leapt into his throat as he realised that it was indeed his master and his young apprentice.

He hurried to the plane door and flung it open just as Beckett and Evie reached the bottom of the steps. Evie looked worn and drained, and much smaller than she really was with Beckett’s jacket wrapped around her, but otherwise she was alive. If one used the term loosely, anyway.

It was better than Cesare had dared to hope when Beckett gave him a rundown of the events that transpired at the Abandoned Children’s Hospital.

“Signore, you found-”

“Yes, yes I found her, thank you for pointing out the obvious Cesare,” Beckett huffed irritably as he chivied Evie up the steps. “Let’s just get her inside before anyone sees us.”

Cesare stood to one side, letting them in while keeping an eye out over the tarmac for any signs of movement, then closed the door firmly behind them.

By the time he turned to join the pair in the cabin, Evie was perched on the sofa, still clutching Beckett’s jacket so that it remained closed firmly around her, and Beckett was rummaging through the fridge for blood bags. He’d been carrying several while searching for Evie, and any that were left were the last of the emergency supply.

Cesare moved towards Evie.

“Miss Byrne, are you alright?” he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

She flinched slightly so he removed the hand and took a step back. She looked frightened and hungry, which was a bad combination for a vampire. He’d seen that for himself. But she didn’t lunge at him or try to latch her fangs onto him, so he guessed she still had a decent handle on her self-control-

Then he saw her hands, just inside the folds of the jackett, and he saw the fine trail of hair that had followed them in and now lay on the floor like an animal that had recently shed.

Beckett’s own monstrous hands were a permanent fixture of his person, but Cesare knew enough to recognise what he was seeing and what it meant.

“I-I’m fine,” Evie muttered, which was an obvious lie, as she drew the coat further around her, concealing her hands properly. “Thanks Cesare.”

He decided against pressing the issue as Beckett approached with the last of the blood bags which he deposited in Evie’s lap. For him to be supplying so liberally from their emergency supply rather than have her feed on the ghoul meant that he didn’t trust that she’d be able to control herself well enough to not drain him dry.

Had she not fed at all in the last few weeks, he wondered.

“Signore, I-”

“I’ve already spoken to a contact at the blood bank. I’ll need to head out for a bit to pick up the delivery. Keep an eye on her, Cesare,” Beckett interrupted brusquely. “When she’s finished with those, let her feed from you. She’s not so hungry that she’ll drain you anyway, but I’m sure you’ll both feel a little better with the added security.”

He grabbed a spare coat and pulled it on as he headed for the door.

“If anything happens, just get out of here and I’ll meet you both somewhere else. Don’t wait around for me,” he ordered. He then paused in the door to give both of them a very serious look and added, “I mean it. Both of you. No sitting around on the off chance that I’ll be back any moment. Just go, and I’ll catch up.”

And with that he was gone as quickly as he had arrived. Cesare’s mouth remained open a moment longer before he closed it and became aware that he was now alone with Evie, who hesitated briefly before silently feeding on the blood bag.

Cesare recognised avoidance tactics when he saw them, so he decided to let Evie have the cabin to herself for a while. She looked like she wasn’t really up for any company right now. Well, any company that wasn’t Beckett’s.

In truth he found himself a little envious of her from time to time, as silly as it sounded. She spent so much time with his master and received his undivided attention and affection, while Cesare often found himself being treated to curt remarks and terse orders.

It wasn’t her fault, of course, and he reminded himself as such when he found his envy of her getting the better of him. She was just a child, and children needed the guidance of their elders. And Beckett had proven an excellent guardian to her so far, the last few weeks notwithstanding.

“I will be in the cockpit if you need me, Miss Byrne,” Cesare said dutifully. “If you need to feed, please just ask, as Mr Beckett said so.”

He turned to leave and was about to slip back into the cockpit, away from the child vampire, before he was called back with a small, “Cesare?”

He paused and looked back at her with a raised brow.

“Yes, Miss Byrne?”

She hesitated, then said in a very small voice, “you’ve always called Beckett ‘signore.’ But you called him Mr Beckett just now…”

He blinked deliberately but kept his expression neutral.

“I did.” Then he grinned conspiratorially. “It annoys him when I call him ‘signore’ after all. No sense in doing it when he’s not around to hear it.”

And he disappeared into the cockpit as soon as he saw her jaw drop and her eyes widen in shock at that particular revelation, and it took a great deal of self-control to keep himself from giggling. 

He was more aware than anyone of his condition. He had known addiction even before meeting Beckett, and was familiar with the way it pushed and pulled him through life. And he was well aware that parts of his mind had been twisted by it, bent into the appropriate shapes needed by the master who held the leash.

But that didn’t mean he was completely mindless. He had enough presence of self to allow himself a little fun at the expense of the unliving he found himself surrounded by these nights. 

Besides if Beckett found him annoying, then annoying he would be. A little personal push back never hurt anybody.

He made to settle himself back in his seat when something clicked in his mind and he depressed the intercom.

“Oh, and before I forget Miss Byrne. Mr Beckett asked that I purchase you a laptop while you were searching for Prince Roy’s agents. It’s in the bag beside the computer.”

He heard the distant, faintly flustered, “thank you!” from the cabin and he smiled to himself, settling back in his seat with his pistol in his lap and an eye on the window.

For all the monsters there were in the world, it was comforting to know that some of them weren’t all bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's been a long time coming - I wrote this _ages_ ago so I'm really eager to see what you guys think :D Your support is appreciated as always, thank you all so much for your support!!


	18. Full Circle

The ice and frost crunched under Beckett’s boots as he moved through the abattoir, though unlike any human, his breath didn’t rise in front of his face as he moved through the carcasses. He shouldered a heavy-looking rucksack which contained a thermos of blood, his tools, and had strapped to it a shovel with a broken-off handle that had been purposefully sharpened into a deadly point.

The aroma of blood that blanketed the building was nearly overwhelming for a predator such as him, but his mental fortitude was enough to clamp down on his instincts as he practically strolled through the freezing interior.

Getting inside had been more difficult than he would have liked. The police had only just finished their investigation of the abattoir following a recent break-in that had resulted in damage to the property. Local animal rights’ groups were under suspicion for sabotage, and members of said groups had gathered outside in protest. While none of them had taken credit and there was nothing to suggest they’d been involved at all, they’d all latched onto the chance to claim that the meat industry was blaming them to ‘further their own pursuit of profit in the name of cruelty.’

It was as amusing as it was annoying, to be perfectly honest. But they weren’t the reason Beckett was here. Even with the scent of blood and raw flesh that filled the cavernous space, his sharpened senses could still pick out the faint scent of expensive perfume that trailed through the rows of gutted corpses.

As he prowled across the ice, following the scent, he came across the damage that the news reports had spoken of. The railings from which the carcasses hung had been crumpled and dented, some had been outright snapped, and hooks had been torn out and weaponised. He recognised the scent of Kindred vitae though none of what he found was Evie’s. 

Assamite then. No doubt that the police would be scratching their heads when DNA samples came back either blank or belonging to people who had been dead for a number of years. The Camarilla, however, would find the idea less humorous than he did.

Had his senses been lesser, he wouldn’t have heard the swish of the steel bar swinging through the air to crack down on his head, and if his reflexes were slower, he wouldn’t have dodged out of its path.

Standing there, burning with rage, was Marie. Traces of perfume clung to her, but it wasn’t the source of the trail that he’d been following; she’d simply been close to it then. Her face was twisted into a feral snarl and no sooner than her attack missed and her opportunity for a surprise strike passed, she lunged at him with flashing claws.

Having no desire to be on the receiving end of such a potent weapon for the second time in the space of two nights, Beckett seized her hands with his own and brought his knee up into her sternum so hard that he was certain that he felt it cracking under the blow.

It didn’t deter his childe, however, and she pressed forwards, using what precious little traction she could get on the icy floor to push him back.

Little did she know that he allowed it. The moment the back of his heel hit the discarded bit of railing, he kicked it upwards with the back of his heel. It spun into the air and, just as quickly, began to fall.

Marie shot backwards before the metal could strike her on the head, and Beckett caught it deftly in one hand. He smirked at his childe and raised a brow. He could still smell the perfume wafting from somewhere nearby. Her ally was close and waiting to strike.

“Not leaving Leon to do all your fighting for you,” he teased.

She didn’t dignify him with a response. Instead she took off at a run, back among the carcasses, as if expecting him to follow her into the maze of bled bodies, dead flesh, and treacherous ice.

But instead he waited. What he waited for, he couldn’t be a hundred percent certain of, but he’d learned a few things about his childe in the last few decades since they first crossed paths in Berlin. The Marie he knew never turned and ran to lead her quarry elsewhere. Where they found her was where she wanted them to be after all. She never made use of a secondary location once she was sighted.

His more recent enemies, however, proved to have a love for deception. Suddenly the perfume made perfect sense.

He twisted around, deflecting Marie’s - the real Marie’s - blow as she lunged from behind, the scent of the perfume burning in his nostrils. Her snarl deepened a little more at the deflection just before he pushed her back. She didn’t stagger or stumble even on the ice. Instead she took her stance, ready to fight.

“That’s more like it,” he remarked wryly, smirking at her. “I’m surprised though. I thought you only used makeup that made you _ look  _ more alive.”

“I’ll enjoy cutting your tongue out if it means that you’ll stop talking,” she growled before she launched herself hands first across the ground, landing at his feet, and kicked up into a handstand. 

The heels of her boots made solid contact with Beckett’s jaw, but he recovered quickly enough to seize her legs - one hand sinking his claws into her calves and the other gauging her behind the knees - and proceed to throw her into the nearest row of pig carcasses.

She didn’t scream, which he had to give her credit for, but she did grunt as she rose to her feet. But he didn’t give her the chance to recover. Not this time.

In the past, something kept him from outright killing Marie. Whether it was because her first death was already on his hands or because Berlin was Camarilla territory and destroying her would break their Tradition of Destruction, the fallout of which he didn’t want to deal with, he didn’t know. 

Or maybe it really was some insidious bond that existed between sire and childe. If so, it wasn’t dampening his decision to destroy her now. In the past he’d felt not the need nor the desire, but that was before she’d threatened his childe.

And maybe Marie had sensed his resolve because she showed no surprise whatsoever as he seized her by the throat, his claws already sinking through her jugular. Instead she pulled a knife from her belt and sunk it into the junction between his neck and shoulder.

He roared, releasing her and forcing her away from him. The knife stuck out from his shoulder and he realised quickly that the blade was serrated and had caught itself on the bone. It would be painful to remove. 

‘Now that’s just petty,’ he thought to himself with a low growl as she rolled out of his path.

Her neck was weeping vitae where his claws had gauged into her flesh, and her legs bled too, but whether it was her hatred or her discipline that kept her upright and focused didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was running at him again, this time dropping to the floor to try and kick his feet out from beneath him.

As he stepped backwards out of his path, her döppleganger reappeared from behind, locked an arm around his neck, ripped the knife hard out of his shoulder, snapping the bone as it went, and proceeded to stab him in the clavicle.

He roared again and threw the fake Marie over his shoulder on top of the real one, and her mask dropped. Whether on purpose given that it was completely pointless now, or by accident, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was indeed Victoria Manse under the disguise, looking vaguely disgruntled but not the least bit surprised.

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” Marie spat as she all but shoved Manse off of her and got back to her feet, retaking her earlier stance. “Beckett’s a coward, but he’s no fool.”

“I’ll take the compliment,” he replied coolly before eyeing Victoria. “As for you. You’re going to answer a few questions I have.”

She sniffed.

“I doubt it. You might have killed Leon, but I think you’ll find that I won’t go down so easily.”

That genuinely caught him off guard. What did she mean that  _ he  _ had killed Leon? He’d ripped the bastard’s guts out before fleeing, but any Kindred worth their salt could survive  _ that _ .

He wondered briefly if maybe Evie was responsible but then his eyes flickered briefly to Marie. Her face was perfectly neutral, but the knowing malice glittered in her eyes.

‘Why does everyone keep framing  _ me _ for the murders they commit?’ he thought to himself irritably when, without warning, Victoria ran forwards and threw three punches: one in his sternum, another in his jaw, and the third directly into his chin. He’d be lying if he said that it didn’t hurt, she certainly hit hard. But if she seriously thought that that would  _ hurt  _ him, she wasn’t nearly as clever as she thought.

So he took the punches, then abruptly seized her arm and snapped it over his knee so hard that bits of shattered bone burst through the skin. She screamed, and the ever-so-slight buckling of her knees gave him all the opening he needed.

He reached behind him and grabbed the shovel from his pack. He held it up so that the sharpened haft where the handle used to be hovered over her heart and then plunged it through.

Her screaming came to an abrupt halt, the piercing note cut off and hanging eerily in the air, noticeably unfinished, as Victoria herself twisted and froze, her face a picture of horror, anger, and pain. The bones of her broken arm seemed to push through a little further like sharp, bloody spines before setting into place, and she fell to the floor, petrified like some horrible statue.

Marie didn’t run to her aid or even  _ try _ to prevent the removal of her ally from the battle. She just watched with mild disinterest as Beckett dropped the immobile Manse to the floor and returned his attention to her.

“I should thank you. You’ve saved me a lot of trouble, for once,” she said bluntly.

She darted forwards and headbutted him in the nose. He staggered briefly as he felt the blood trickle down his face, long enough for her claws to rake across his chest, his flesh burning and his Beast howling in rage. It demanded she be put in her place, be shown the consequences of her actions, and for once her acquiesced to its demand as for once he quite agreed with the sentiment. He’d left her running around too long.

He seized her wrist, and dragged her to one side, forcing her to overbalance, and slammed his knee her sternum, and this time he definitely felt it splinter and give way under the impact. Had she still been using her heart and lungs, she’d be dying already. 

As she wasn’t, he could only say that it hurt like shit, so he yanked her back upright, and with the spinning kick Lucita had taught him, he slammed his shin into her head, and she toppled to the ground as her nose exploded in a shower of blood.

Before she could try to recover or move away, he seized her by the forehead and let the tips of his claws touch against her temples. She bit down on an involuntary gasp, forcing herself to remain silent. 

“You,” he snarled, “have done enough.”

He slammed her head hard against the icy concrete and it took all of her restraint not to make a single noise of pain.

“Wrong,” she hissed. “I’ve not even gotten started with what I’ll do to-”

He cut her off by slamming her head into the concrete again. This time a smatter of blood was left on the ground.

“I don’t usually indulge in cruelty,” he spat. “I’ve made the mistake of doing so in the past. And while I would  _ love _ to break my rules just for this occasion, I’m not going to make it again. Not for you.”

He slammed her head into the concrete again, and she managed to work her arm around to seize his wrist, trying to pry him off.

“Good, because I don’t intend to give you the chance,” she gasped through a mouthful of blood.

She worked her leg free and kicked him in his temple. Briefly the world exploded with colour, but he refused to let his grip slacken even briefly. 

He reached under the arm that was keeping Marie pinned and grabbed her leg, forcing her foot down and away from his head. She writhed, trying to fight back, but it just increased the pressure on her skull and she screamed furiously.

“YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!” she shrieked.

“I’m aware,” he said coldly. “Ironic that your professions have always revolved around taking everything from someone else, but it’s only a crime when someone does it to you.”

“YOU’LL DIE FOR THIS! YOU, YOUR CHILDE, AND EVERY OTHER KINDRED WHO IMPOSES THEIR FILTHY EXISTENCE ON THE WORLD!” she persisted. “I’LL SEE YOU ALL BURN, YOU’LL DIE, AND IT WILL BE JUSTIFIED!”

He regarded her coldly.

“If the world you envision is built on the deaths of so many, then it’s a world I would rather never see come to pass,” he said simply.

She didn’t another word, just let out a primal scream of rage that was stopped dead as Beckett sunk his claws deep into her throat and severed her head from her shoulders.

For a brief moment, he met his childe’s eyes and felt some miniscule drop of pity for her. 

She had been human once. A human with the power to decide her on her path and convictions, and she used that power to dedicatee her whole life to destruction and some twisted ideal of purification. Joining the SS, becoming a hunter, and even when she became a Kindred, every choice she had made hinged on the destruction of another. As if it would somehow make things better.

She sought to change the world with fire and blood, to see those who opposed her die. Kindness had never been an option in her eyes. And it was sad.

But he wouldn’t mourn her destruction as she crumbled into ashes in his hands.

Ultimately destruction had been her choice. Death had been her choice. Her twisted beliefs were her choice, and was the only choice she cared to make. All others were weak or ineffectual in her eyes, and not worth pursuing. And it was monstrous, to be frank.

The thought struck him as ironic, as he hefted the paralysed-Victoria over his shoulder. A monster condemning another monster as a monster.

But then, he thought, as he picked his path back through the abattoir and considered how to get past the crowd of protesters, reporters and police unnoticed, he had made his own choices. Choices based on the morals he deemed important to him and to his humanity. 

He might be a predator of the night, and there might be times where he was the monster that the Beast willed him to be, but the rest of the time he was still Beckett. And Beckett made the decision to be better than those like Marie.

He was a monster, it was true. He would never deny his own predatory nature as a Kindred. But a monster didn’t have to be monstrous. He could have decided to do as the Beast willed and prolonged Marie’s suffering. He could have whiled away at her for hours, letting her linger before inflicting Final Death upon her. 

He also could have left a certain young Gangrel Fledgling to fend for herself alone in a world that was set against her in every conceivable way. He could have left her to starve into torpor in that little forgotten village. He could have handed her over to Roy when the offer was made if only to remove himself from the conflict.

Instead he chose to make Marie’s end quick, and he was doing everything he could to help Evie. He didn’t know if that was what she still wanted from him. He still wasn’t sure where they stood after all that had happened. But he knew that he was trying. 

And that would have to be enough.

[]

Evie scratched at her hands. Her claws had finally receded in her normal fingernails, but she was still shedding hair, as was evidenced by the growing pile of it in the bin at her feet. It didn’t seem to matter how much fell out, there was always more there to take its place, and the skin she could see under the fine covering was now a bright, angry red.

She scowled and scratched a bit harder, drawing on the blood to toughen her skin as she did so. It didn’t make much of a difference though. The back of her hand stung where she’d itched, and the down of fur persisted.

Beckett had promised that he would teach her the techniques required to help purge the beastly traits from her body - as it was her first frenzy, they were unlikely to stick - but only once they were away from Berlin. Yet it had been two nights since he’d found her in the park, and he still hadn’t returned from what he had claimed to be a run to the blood bank.

‘He’s hunting Marie and the others,’ she thought to herself. ‘Or he’s meeting people, or maybe he’s-’

She stopped herself dead. Not so much for Beckett’s benefit, but rather her own. It was true that she had allowed him to escort her to safety, and that she had returned to the plane, but she couldn’t help but find herself torn over how she felt about him.

She was still angry at him for hiding the truth from her. If he had just  _ told _ her about Marie from the beginning... 

Did he really think she wouldn’t have understood if he had explained himself the moment that a trip to Berlin came up? Did he believe he could have avoided ever taking her there for fear of encountering his childe? Did he really, truly believe that she would never find out if he just avoided the subject?

At least now she understood why he was so insistent on referring to her as his adoptive childe. He didn’t want to run the risk of anyone off-handedly mentioning any other childer of his for fear she’d learn the truth.

The thought came off rather viciously, but it didn’t feel misplaced. If he had just told her then maybe she wouldn’t have had to learn if from the bitch herself.

“I trust you plan to clean that up once you’re done.”

She jumped at the sight of Beckett standing just inside the cabin door. He looked, to be frank, like shit. His shirt had been torn open and there were deep, bloody gouges in his chest, his nose was bleeding, and- yes, those were indeed half-healed stab wounds in his shoulder and clavicle. He was also carrying something wrapped in a sunproof tarp over his shoulder.

Instinctually Evie rose to her feet, her anger and hairy hands briefly forgotten as she stared at him.

“What the hell happened?” she asked. “I thought you were just-”

“That was the plan, but my contact at the bank gave me a tip I decided against ignoring,” he explained wearily as he dumped whatever it was onto the floor. He then dropped his backpack and sank into a seat. He ran a hand over his face into his hair, clearly exhausted.

Evie hesitated then glanced down at the thing now lying on the floor. She could smell blood, a great deal of it. Not just Beckett’s, and not just the blood bags he was carrying in his pack. It was coming from under the tarp.

Beckett said nothing as she tentatively reached down and tugged it back, then leapt back once she caught sight of what was hidden underneath.

The petrified form of Victoria Manse, her face frozen in a picture of terror and agony, and no small amount of fury. 

Evie stared back at Beckett incredulously, then pointed down at Victoria’s rigid body.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He just shrugged.

“I have some questions, and she’ll certainly have some answers,” he said simply. 

“And then what do we do? Drop her off someplace, or just kill her?” she growled.

“That,” he said evenly as he removed his sunglasses and placed them on the desk, “depends entirely on what she decides.”

Then he rose to his feet, clearly uninterested in continuing the conversation.

“But it can wait until tomorrow night. I’m exhausted, and you’ve got some cleaning up to do.” He gestured to the mess of hair and fur in the bin as he moved towards the bathroom. “I’ll clean myself up, put her away, and then we’ll work on some meditative techniques that will help with those.”

She stared after him, then down at Victoria, and then rubbed her face. Which proved to be a mistake as the fur itched at her eyes and made them water with blood. She had to resist the urge to wipe them with her hands and rubbed her sleeve over them instead.

“Note to self: no more frenzies,” she muttered as she sank back down onto the sofa, eyes still hovering warily over Victoria.

Evie had only seen a vampire get staked once before, and at the time she’d been a bit preoccupied with being staked herself. So maybe it was just recalling bad memories, but seeing Victoria frozen on the ground like that was disturbing. Her Beast’s metaphorical ears flattened and it growled at the sight of her, or rather at the sight of the shovel that was impaled through her chest.

She briefly thought to ask Beckett if it was a normal reaction before dismissing the thought. 

She was still angry with him, she reminded herself. She wasn’t about to go back to being the eager apprentice, not while the wounds were still fresh. And certainly not with Victoria fucking Manse lying on the floor.

When Beckett returned with healed wounds and untorn clothes, he had Cesare store Victoria away for the day before he directed Evie to sit on the floor. Had she not been so eager to be rid of her beastly hands, she might have refused and kept to herself.

But instead she did as she was told and sat cross legged on the floor as Beckett instructed, and their session began.

It wasn’t like the kind of meditation that was shown on TV or in the movies. It wasn’t about sitting in silence and thinking about nothing while making an ‘ohm’ sound over and over. In fact it was more difficult than she had realised. 

First of all, it did in fact require complete focus and ease of mind, neither of which was easy to accomplish in her current state. Every now and then her mind strayed to those brief flashes of memory before she fell away and the Beast seized control, and she caught herself spiralling. 

Of course, Beckett always noticed when her focus had slipped and, rather than treat her to a snarky remark as he might have done on any other day, he simply guided her back to her objective. To focus solely on the Beast and how it interacted with her mind, body, and soul.

It took a good two hours before she really had a grasp of what he wanted her to accomplish, and by that point she was growing steadily frustrated with her lack of progress. 

“Why is this so fucking difficult?” she cursed when Beckett once again pointed out her slipping focus.

He smiled sympathetically, which she decided she didn’t particularly care for right now.

“It can take weeks, or even months to learn these techniques, and years to master them,” he said calmly. “Considering how you’ve only just started, your progress is excellent.”

She glowered at him then closed her eyes again, trying to recapture her focus. 

But her prickling temper and frustration made it an insurmountable task, and she rose to her feet after several minutes.

“I need some air. Alone,” she said tersely, moving past him towards the door. To her surprise, he didn’t even try to stop her.

“Just don’t wander too far,” he said.

She didn’t reply, just stepped out into the cold night air and once the door shut behind her, she let out a sigh. Her breath rose in a small cloud of mist in front of her face, and she made her way down the steps onto the tarmac. 

Once she was level ground, she began to walk along the runway.

She couldn’t really explain  _ why _ she was angry with Beckett for treating her with so much patience when all he got in return was attitude. 

Maybe because she was just trying to get the reaction she had come to expect with such behaviour. She had, after all, run off for three weeks and caused him no end of trouble, yet he hadn’t snapped at her once. No shouting or threats or even a smack around the face. She’d received all of that and more from her father for having the nerve to respond too slowly to being called to dinner in the past.

Had she a better grasp of herself, really understood what was happening in her head, she would have realised that it was a confusion in her expectations. She’d spent her life receiving harsh punishments for small infractions, so to receive no punishment for attacking Beckett, an authority figure, made something in her brain decide that something was very wrong, and the only was to fix it was for the balance to be reasserted, and that meant pushing until the correct reaction was received.

But Evie was young, confused, and still coming down from what she was still hesitant to admit was a suicide attempt, and so it was just a conflict of warring emotions that made no sense to her.

As she walked, she became aware of the fact that she was being followed, and for a second she thought it was Cesare having been sent by Beckett to keep an eye on her. 

With a low growl in the back of her throat, she whirled around.

“I said I wanted to be alone-!”

The snarl died in her throat as, instead of Cesare, she instead found herself face to face with none other than the Assamite Elder. The same elder who had been stalking her since that night in the graveyard.

It was the first time that Evie had really  _ looked _ at her. She was of average height and had Arab features that were weathered, partly by age and mostly from experience, and long black hair that was peppered with silver, which she wore braided to keep it out of her face. Her gaze was sharp and a single brow arched itself in what might have been vague amusement, but otherwise she was difficult to read.

She also didn’t have a weapon in hand, which struck Evie as odd. Did she intend to kill her with her bare hands?

“You can put those away,” the Elder chided in a thick Arabian accent, waving a hand towards the claws that had sprouted from Evie’s fingertips without her even noticing. “I am not here to fight you.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you,” Evie growled. “What do you want?”

“To talk.” 

The Elder strode forwards, stepping just past Evie before stopping and then beckoning for her to join her. Evie, understandably, hesitated and glowered at the Elder who simply stared back coolly.

“If I were here to kill you, I would have done it while you were busy sulking,” she said sharply. “Now come. We have much to discuss.”

Evie hesitated a moment longer, but then decided she had nothing to lose. The Elder wasn’t wrong after all. She could have attacked whenever she wanted while Evie was still wrapped up in her thoughts. And if this was a ruse and she was here to fight, then at least she had a chance to go out fighting rather than standing around and waiting for the sun.

So she fell in step beside the Elder.

For a long while they walked in silence until the plane had fallen away into the distance, and only then did the Elder open her mouth to speak.

“I must confess myself impressed. Not only have you evaded every single one of our attempts to kill you, but you were able to claw your way back from a Frenzy and not diablerise a single one of us,” she mused. “Not many Fledglings prove to possess such discipline. Especially those who haven’t seen the end of their first year.”

Evie snorted but said nothing.

“In fact, our leader, Tergyrius, has shown much interest in this particular contract. More so than he usually would,” the Elder continued.

“You taking me to him so he can take a crack at me himself?” Evie grumbled.

The Elder simply laughed, and to Evie’s surprise it sounded genuine. Not hollow and mirthless or simple action meant to simulate the flow of conversation as mortals might experience it. It was clear as a bell, and the Elder looked amused.

“Don’t put too much stock in your abilities, Child. You’re not ready for that battle yet,” she said wryly. “He does wish for me to convey his congratulations, however. You are one of the few targets that have survived us.”

Evie stopped dead and stared incredulously at the Elder who paused mid-stride and raised a brow at her, still smiling wryly.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that Tergyrius has re-evaluated the contract on your life,” the Elder replied simply. “We have lost many of our number, and he has decided that the destruction of a single Fledgling is not worth all of our Neonates.

“The contract on your life, as ordered by Prince Roy of Leicester, has been declared null and void. As such, the Banu Haqim will no longer hunt you in any official capacity.”

Evie frowned. There was no way it was that straightforward. Simply refusing a contract paid for by a Prince? One they had been trying to fulfill for months? Surely such a thing wouldn’t be allowed.

But then some of the Elder’s words clicked. 

“What do you mean ‘official capacity’?” 

The Elder’s smile spread a little further, as if pleased.

“I mean that the Banu Haqim no longer hunt you for Prince Roy’s benefit and there is no price on your life. Many of our clan will respect that and will cease their hunt. There will, however, always be impulsive youths looking to make their mark. And you would make an impressive trophy.”

“So you’re saying some Assamites will still try to kill me because it’ll make them look good? Wonderful,” she snorted.

“Such is the price of your reputation,” the Elder said with a shrug, before turning to continue along the runway with Evie following alongside. “Surely you considered that when you chose to abandon the Anarchs and oppose the Camarilla?”

“...It might have come up.”

And it had. The Cabbie had warned her that striking out alone against the Kuei Jin and the Camarilla would make her a legend, and such legends were the prey of the ambitious. Just as the Elder was suggesting. And Evie made her choice knowing that, though it couldn’t be said that she had really understood that at the time.

“Then you made your choice knowing this would be the outcome. A courageous move.”

They stopped again and Evie had only just realised that they had walked in a circle and were now headed back in the direction of the plane. The Elder, however, was now standing before her and not looking at her, but rather staring directly over her shoulder and looking rather unimpressed.

She muttered something in Arabic and Evie turned to see three Assamites - all of whom couldn’t be that much older than herself - standing behind her, weapons drawn, and looking rather sheepish.

“A moment, Child,” she said to Evie in English before stepping past her towards the Neonates.

At first her words were cool and calm, but when she received muttered replies, her berating became harsh and strict. Evie might not have understood a word she was saying, but it was clear that these three were some of the ambitious youths she had mentioned earlier, and that she was telling them off for doing exactly as she had expected them to. 

It was actually rather funny, watching them bow their heads and seeing their faces flush with embarrassment. Like naughty children who’d been caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

The Elder abruptly jabbed a finger at the three and they abruptly turned tail and scampered away into the darkness. Only once they were out of sight did the Elder turn back to Evie. Traces of her sternness lingered on her features, but they weren’t aimed at her.

“The rest of this pack will cease their hunt or risk dire consequences for disobeying orders,” she said shortly. “I cannot speak for the rest, however.”

“I’ll keep my nose open,” Evie replied dryly, recalling that night in the forgotten village.

The Elder smiled, clearly pleased, and nodded.

“Good. It would be a shame to see such potential wasted for some undeserving whelp’s trophy hunt,” she said. “Now I believe you ought to return to your sire, Child. If you are gone too long, he might just carve his way through another of our packs to find you.”

Evie hesitated, something coiling tightly inside of her at those words. Something the Elder didn’t fail to notice.

“Ah, you doubt his intentions for you still,” she said serenely. “Then allow me to say this: if he had a purpose for you, then why not simply abandon you and sire another childe? It would be far less hassle than opposing the Camarilla, after all.”

Evie didn’t answer, but the thoughts swirled around in her head. Because another childe might not have her success. She had killed Ming Xiao, had been instrumental to Lacroix’s fall, and had survived more than she’d had any right to survive. And according to Leon, Roy believed he might have a use for her. Her father. A Prince. The same father and Prince who wanted her dead.

But she couldn’t bring herself to say it because it all sounded so  _ wrong _ in her head. She wasn’t nearly so valuable to risk so much for. It sounded so egotistical to think that way, like she was worth more than she really was. At the end of the day, she was trouble. A nuisance. An unintended consequence of a ‘carefully measured dose of Camarilla Compassion.’

The Elder smiled knowingly and stepped closer, placing a hand on Evie’s shoulder.

“He fights for you because he cares for you. Another trait that makes him so very strange for a Kindred his age,” she chuckled. “Believe me, Child, you have more to fear from the night than you do Beckett.”

Evie said nothing, just stared at the ground until the pressure of the Elder’s hand left her shoulder. And even then, she found herself receiving a strangely warm smile.

“Now go. Return to your sire and learn the truth. I may not know what it is, but it could be vital to your struggle.”

The Elder turned and began to walk away before Evie called her back.

“You never told me your name.”

The Elder blinked, but then inclined her head.

“You may call me Amara, Child.”

“Okay… Then. Thank you, Amara.”

Amara smiled, turned away once more, and vanished into the night.

[]

The following night was tense. 

Evie hadn’t said a word to Beckett about her conversation with Amara from the previous night, but it wasn’t the cause of the tension in the cabin. In fact, she felt herself feeling more relaxed around him. She still had some feelings to work out, but it was worth reminding herself that she was safe around him. He wasn’t looking to use her.

No, the tension came back to the petrified Victoria Manse who was now laid on the floor, ready to be unstaked and questioned. Cesare had restrained her arms as best he could with what was on hand, though Beckett kept himself between her and Evie as a precaution. It was hard to say how she would react when the stake was removed, though it was likely that she would go on the offensive the moment she laid eyes on her prey.

“Are you ready Evie?” he asked finally.

She would have said ‘yes’ but the words stuck in her throat. This woman knew more about her father than she ever had. What he was, what he had done, and what he was doing now. This was her best chance to get the answers she needed to put an end to this, but what if she didn’t like them? What if she heard something else she didn’t want to hear? What if-?

She cut her thoughts short and nodded. There was no sense in standing around wondering. It had to be done. And that was the end of it.

So Beckett moved forwards and knelt down in front of Victoria.

“I know that you can hear me, so I’m going to lay down a few rules before we get started,” he began sharply. “You try to do anything to her-” he pointed to Evie “-and you’ll wish that I had killed you in that abattoir.”

There was genuine menace in his voice when he said that, and Evie shivered. She’d seen Beckett kill before, but that had been in self-defense. Now he was willing to do it to protect her. And he’d decided that beforehand.

“We have some questions, and you are going to answer them. I will know if you’re lying, so I wouldn’t recommend that you try because I would prefer not having to get my hands dirty. I will if I have to, however.”

Another shiver. He was doing this purposefully, he had to be. To make sure that not only Victoria, but also Evie had a full understanding of the nature of the interrogation. And a quick glance over his shoulder at her meant that he was also giving her the chance to protest and speak up. 

Part of her wanted to, but she stayed quiet. Amara had said to trust that Beckett acted in her best interests, and he’d never given her reason to doubt that. He knew how to handle Kindred better than she did. She’d let him decide how this worked.

“I’m going to pull the stake out now. Try anything, and I’ll shove it back in and leave you for the sun. Understood?”

He didn’t get a response, obviously. So he placed one hand over Victoria’s neck to pin her down and grabbed the broken shovel with the other. Slowly, he pulled it free with a wet squelch, and all at once Victoria went limp against the sofa.

Her head rolled back against the seat, and her arms dropped and the tension swum from her legs as she let out an agonised gasp. There was still a gaping hole in her chest, but within moments it slowly began to knit itself together as the bones of her broken arm began to pull back under the skin.

It took her a few minutes to reconstitute herself, and in that time everyone remained deadly silent as the tension smothered the cabin.

Then, she slowly raised her head and gave Beckett a disdainful sniff.

“I think you’ll find that  _ that _ -” her eyes fluttered down to the beastly hand over her throat “-is quite unnecessary.”

“I should hope it is,” he replied coolly, rising to his feet. “Just don’t prove yourself wrong, and this will go swimmingly.”

“Hmph.” 

She pressed herself up into her seat, eyes watching Cesare warily. He had his pistol out and trained on her forehead, ready to put her down if necessary. Her eyes then moved to Evie and she could  _ feel _ the seething hatred wash over her as the Ventrue scowled at her until Beckett stepped in front of her, blocking Victoria’s sight.

“You have a lot of nerve, I’ll give you that Beckett,” she said in a cold, clipped tone. “Considering all that you’ve done, you should count yourself lucky that I don’t kill you where you stand.”

“I hardly think you’re in a position to be making threats, Victoria,” he replied coolly.

“You’ve yet to learn the difference between a threat and a warning, I see,” she sniffed.

“If this is about your Brujah friend, I’ll have you know that  _ I _ didn’t kill him.” He folded his arms over his chest. “Or did you really think that Marie would have passed up the chance to finish him off when he was already wounded?”

Her eyes flashed angrily.

“I didn’t realise that you were looking to question my intelligence, Beckett,” she hissed. “Do you always feel such a need to bolster yourself over others? Only a man so insecure in his own intellect would resort to such tactics.”

“If you’re both done with the pissing contest,” Evie sighed, stepping out from behind Beckett.

His hand hovered over his shoulder then returned to his side, which she returned by placing a quick touch to his elbow before facing Victoria. The hatred in her eyes merely intensified. If looks could kill, Evie was sure she would have keeled over by now. But seeing as she didn’t, she swallowed hard and held Victoria’s gaze.

“You’re going to tell me everything you know about my father.”

Victoria blinked and then laughed. It was a cold, cruel sound, and harsh like a vicious winter wind. Her lip curled in callous delight as she stared back at Evie, eyes narrowing.

“Oh my dear,” she said mockingly. “Where should I begin? Like the fact he was never your father to begin with?”

There was a beat of silence. Evie felt something icy curl in her stomach and her dead heart flopped nervously in her chest.

“What-?”

“Centuries ago Roy,  _ my _ father, was in need of a reliable blood supply. One he could feed on without risk of discovery or… intervention. In those days, there were too few mortals for us all to feed upon, so he took it upon himself to find a source that he could feed from exclusively, so that there would be less strain on our resources.”

Beckett’s eyes went wide.

“He became a Cleaver,” he murmured.

“He did,” Victoria affirmed. “He went through several mortal partners, and even as more mortals became available for feeding, he continued. To ensure our security into the future.”

“More likely he got a taste for it,” he growled.

Victoria ignored him and focused solely on Evie.

“Your mother, Kara. She was already pregnant when he found and seduced her. With her came the promise of additional vessels in just over a decade. The boy, and you.”

Then her gaze hardened and her lips twisted into a snarl as she continued.

“But then you had to go and kill her, didn’t you? You tore your way out and she bled to death like the pathetic, weak little mortal she was, and suddenly Roy was left with two mortal children who were too small and weak to be a sustainable source for him.”

“And yet he kept them,” Beckett interrupted. “Why not hand them off to the authorities, or to relatives? Why keep something of no use to him?”

“Because Kara needed to be punished for her weakness,” Victoria hissed. “And  _ she _ -” her eyes flickered to Evie again “-needed to be punished for robbing Roy of his property.”

The icy feeling in Evie’s chest spread into her stomach and her legs, and she stood frozen to the spot. Roy was never her father to begin with. He’d simply preyed upon her mother, planned to use her, Evie, and Jacob as his blood supply. And then when her mother died from complications in childbirth - which Roy had always blamed Evie for - he kept them… to punish her for dying? Or to punish Evie for killing her? Or both?

It felt like the entire world was suspended in time.

All those years… The shouting, the beatings, things being thrown, being made to sleep in the garden shed, and all the other punishments for the slightest perceived wrong… And it was because her mother had died and Evie had been the one to kill her? 

Was that why he hunted her now? Had he believed her dead, and then learned of her Embrace and survival in LA, and decided to continue tormenting her? To punish her for a crime she couldn’t even  _ remember _ ?!

But Victoria was smiling now, all cruel fangs and hate-filled eyes as she leaned forward.

“Do you want to know a little secret, Evelyn?”

“Don’t call me that,” Evie shot back stiffly, feeling a lump forming in her throat. 

But Victoria ignored her and continued.

“When you shot Roy, after he drained your brother, he decided to search for you. You were his, after all, and you not only attacked him, but you left without his permission. Such defiance requires punishment.

“It took him a long time. You had wormed your way into a very well-hidden little hole after all, so very far away from home. Then, when he found you, he started searching for someone… suitable, for a very particular task.”

The cold that overcame Evie was unnatural; she was already dead, her body was supposed to be cold, but this cold was like that of the void. The Beast was slamming against the bars of its cage, urging her to flee or lash out before Victoria spoke another word. But Evie was rooted to the spot, unable to run or even just turn away and block her out.

The fear had overcome her and paralysed her where she stood.

“Why do you think your sire chose to Embrace some brat who snuck her way into a club?” she hissed lowly. “Why would he wait for you to wake, when you rotten fleabags always flee and abandon your progeny before waking? Because it was  _ ordered _ of him. He was  _ paid _ to do it-”

“That’s enough,” Beckett cut over, placing himself between Evie and Victoria.

But Victoria didn’t stop. Instead she leaned to one side, peering around Beckett, her eyes burning with a joyful malice.

“He was to inform you that it was Roy’s doing. That he had been paid a kingly sum for Embracing you. But, alas, someone tipped off Prince Lacroix to the plan, and the Camarilla arrived before the Embrace could be prevented or before he could reveal that information.”

Her eyes flashed, betraying the Beast within. She and It were all too pleased with the effect her words were having. 

“Such a shame.”

“Make her stop,” Evie choked thickly, her eyes swimming with bloody tears.

Beckett nodded and approached Victoria. But she didn’t even try to fight, just kept her eyes fixed on Evie.

“He thought you would die in that courtroom. That had been the plan,” she continued, eyes alight with joy. “But I’d say the way everything played out was far more interesting.”

“Shut up!” Evie yelled.

Beckett picked up the stake and Cesare moved closer, gun still trained tightly on Victoria, ready to fire if she lunged.

But instead she only laughed as she said, “you’re a foul little beast, and everyone knows it Evelyn! You bring death with you everywhere you go, and when you’re finally dead, the entire world will be better for it-!”

“SHUT UP!”

Cesare flinched, as it wasn’t Evie who had screamed, but Beckett. 

The broken shovel-turned-stake hit the floor, claws unsheathed themselves, and Victoria’s head rolled onto the floor before it and her body rapidly began to disintegrate. Her flesh sloughed away from her bones as they cracked and crumbled, and all that was left was a splatter of blood and a pile of ashes.

Evie didn’t see nor care. Instead she was clutching against Beckett’s desk so hard that her knuckles had gone white, and tears were dripping down her face. Her chest jerked as she took harsh breaths in a vain attempt to try and calm herself.

She didn’t know when Beckett drew her away into the cockpit, away from Victoria’s remains and leaving Cesare to clean the mess, only that she was curled into his chest as she sobbed. One hand rubbed along her spine and the other tangled into her hair, massaging her scalp comfortingly.

“It was him, it was all him,” she sobbed thickly, the words barely understandable as she hiccupped. “He did this to me!”

Beckett said nothing - after all what was there that could be said - but he drew her a little closer into his person. 

After a few moments she was certain that she could hear the rhythmic beating of a heart in his chest. At first it seemed impossible, but then she realised that he was indeed using his blood to force the dead organ to pump as it would have done in life. She pressed herself against him and took in that strangely comforting sound.

She’d had one once. A heart that worked as intended. Until her father- no, Roy decided that she didn’t deserve one. Because she had killed her mother. Because she had acted in fear of him. Because she had ran away.

He had taken everything from her. Her childhood, her life, hell, even her unlife was being stolen from her because of his insane need to punish her for something she didn’t even remember.

There was no way for her to know how long they sat in the cockpit. She didn’t even notice Cesare stepping inside to inform Beckett that the mess had been taken care of and that they hadn’t aroused any suspicion from the airport officials. She just curled up in Beckett’s lap, like a small child clinging to their parents for comfort.

Something she desperately needed.

“She was wrong,” Beckett murmured at some point as he stroked her hair gently.

“Huh?” 

Evie lifted her head.

“Death doesn’t follow you because you’re bad luck,” he said gently. “It’s  _ his _ fault, not your’s. If he hadn’t hunted you the way he did…”

She rested her head against his chest again, hands fidgeting in her lap. She wanted to refuse, to insist it was her fault because she had gone to LA and people got hurt because she was there. 

And maybe he sensed that as he added, “you don’t have to accept it right away. You spent your whole life under his heel. It will take time to undo the damage he’s done… And it might not ever  _ really _ go away. But I’ll be here for as long as you’ll allow me to be.”

There was a long pause but she curled into him again.

“Thank you… So. What do we do now?” She frowned. “Victoria didn’t really tell us anything useful…”

She looked up when Beckett chuckled, and she was surprised to see him smirking. She frowned, wondering what could be so funny.

“That’s the thing, Young One. She told us the one thing that might help us to take him down,” he said wryly. “She revealed that Roy is a Cleaver: a Kindred who maintains a mortal family in order to feed upon them.” 

His grin widened.

“And the Camarilla don’t like Cleavers.”

[]

It was rare that Roy lost his temper. Even rarer that he lose it so openly. And even more rarely did Lisa experience outright fear in his presence - she had hardly failed him after all - but tonight was an exception.

“You’re telling me that he  _ killed _ her?!” he roared, his fist having left a sizable dent in his desk.

His Majesty rolled off of him in a thunderous wave and it took every bit of resolve she had not to curl up on the floor and beg for his mercy. She hadn’t failed him, but she had been the messenger seeing as Delilah was dead, and she was the one now risking his wrath. 

“Y-yes Father,” she said in a very small voice. “Both Marie and Victoria were destroyed by-”

“I don’t care about that flea-bitten mongrel!” he spat viciously. “Good riddance I say! But Victoria-!”

He stopped dead. He’d slammed his fist into the desk again and the surface cracked loudly, the sound echoing around the space. For a moment Lisa was certain it would make him even angrier, but it seemed to bring him to his senses instead as he slowly unfurled his hand and rubbed his temples, as if to ward off an oncoming headache.

Lisa stood silently before him, unsure if she should speak or leave or wait to be addressed. One wrong move and she didn’t doubt that he would kill her. Just a few nights ago he had destroyed Luciana and Gina for failing to report a disturbance between Leicester’s Anarchs and Camarilla.

It didn’t strike her as fair. They had only been trying to keep matters in the city from piling up onto his plate while he dealt with the Evelyn Problem, but he had them executed anyway. Now it was the Nosferatu twins - Beaker and Charter - who were now running things.

She somehow doubted it would last long. Now that Victoria, his eldest and favourite childe, was gone, what was to keep him from throwing the rest of them at every little problem?

“Lisa.” 

She froze but said nothing as Roy turned to her. 

“It seems we will need to get our hands dirty after all. With the Assamites reneging on our bargain, and the Hunter dead…” He took a deep breath and gave her a withering stare. “The honour of killing Beckett is your’s. As repayment for the childe you lost. But Evelyn is  _ mine _ .”

A chill went down Lisa’s spine. For the first time since this had all begun, the prospect of it terrified her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so first off, props to Kitkat for calling out Roy for a particular deed - I did wonder if anyone would have any ideas on Roy's involvement with LA and you hit the nail on the head for one part in particular ;)  
> As usual, thank you all so much for your support, it means the world to me!! You guys are the reason this fic exists and has carried on for as long as it has. Here's hoping I've got enough steam left to carry us through to the end!!


	19. Moving Pieces

It always seemed to rain in Santa Monica, Evie realised. Or at least, it did since she’d been embraced. With her head rested against the cold window, she watched raindrops streaking down the glass, mentally betting on which would reach the bottom first. It was all that kept her mind off of the mounting dread in the pit of her stomach.

Beside her, Beckett remained similarly silent as he scribbled in his journal, no doubt keeping his notes on the situation up-to-date, while Therese occupied the passenger seat beside Cesare. Her piercing gaze remained fixed on some distant point beyond the windshield, and the tension in her shoulders was unmistakable.

They were bound for the Tremere Chantry. Therese had a meeting with Strauss, and as it happened to coincide with Evie and Beckett’s arrival, she’d asked them to accompany her. To what end, Evie was uncertain, but she somehow doubted that anything good would come of it. 

She might have kept quiet about the creator of the gargoyle that took up residence in the Chinese Theatre that Isaac so loved, and she might not have aided the Anarchs directly in the end, but that didn’t mean that Strauss had any real reason to forgive her for the affect her actions had had on the Camarilla’s position in LA. He might not have spoken against her back in Cairo, but that was before her father- Roy had become more bold in his attempts to kill her. Now he might believe her to be a pest who brought the Camarilla nothing but trouble.

She supposed she would find out soon enough.

Soon enough the suburbs made way for the towering skyscrapers of Downtown LA, with canvassing and scaffolding still surrounding the top of the Venture Tower. There were few people in the streets, however, and more than a few police patrols took their place. 

With all the reports of so-called ‘gang violence’ it ought not to be surprising that the kine weren’t eager to be out and about so late at night. Only those without much choice - such as the sex workers and the thugs themselves - hung around at the street corners, always watching and waiting for an opportunity, or a reason to start running.

More than once a police officer stopped Cesare, asking for a license or ID. Just procedure, they said. New security measures to try and limit the spread of the turf war. It slowed their progress, which only set Therese further on edge before they finally rolled up in front of a very familiar building.

The Chantry was rather nondescript, easy enough to pass over completely if you didn’t know to look for it. You had to crane your neck to look up and notice the glowing, purple window at the very top, the only sign that anything magical occurred here, and Evie had the sneaking suspicion that ordinary kine probably wouldn’t be able to see it anyway. 

All the other windows had curtains drawn over them, preventing anyone on the street from seeing inside, and a pair of lanterns flanked the double doors leading inside. A gnarled tree stood on the tiny, cramped lawn, and at the very top of the building was an empty pedestal that ought to have been home to a gargoyle. The very one Evie had killed at the behest of both Isaac and Strauss.

Just looking at the Chantry made Evie more uneasy than ever and it took more willpower than she would have liked to keep herself from vomiting up blood onto the floor between her feet.

Beckett, meanwhile, was stuffing his journal back into his jacket pocket, and Evie could have sworn she saw him fiddling with something else a moment longer before he climbed out of the car.

She decided against remarking on his decision to record a meeting between the LA Camarilla’s two most powerful Kindred, and simply followed suit.

The interior was exactly as it had been the last time she had visited Strauss. The floor was lined with a plush red rug with golden designs woven into the surface, the entrance hall’s walls had a dark wood trim with pale green wallpaper while the walls in the halls beyond were dark red and lit with lanterns, and to their immediate right was a flight of stairs leading to the upper levels of the Chantry. A place Evie had never been because Strauss would never permit a non-Tremere to wander anywhere that wasn’t his sitting room.

Indeed, Evie knew she would never need to memorise her way around the Chantry’s ground floor because no matter how which way she had gone, her feet always led to the double, oak doors that was encrusted with shimmering glass that depicted a large oak tree, or to the entrance hall. There had never been any variation in her prior visits, and it could only be thanks to whatever magic was at play here.

‘Some of those Tremere secrets Strauss keeps to himself,’ she though privately.

Therese pursed her lips at the sight of the empty entrance hall.

“I see that the Regent doesn’t see fit to send anyone to meet us,” she said curtly. “Typical.”

Evie shrugged.

“I’ve never seen anyone but Strauss here whenever I’ve visited,” she said.

“Perhaps, but you’re not a Prince,” Therese replied, rubbing her temples before she rounded on Evie, a hand on her hip and a brow arched. “I trust you have an idea as to where we might find the Regent?”

“Maybe, if he’s where he normally is, and hasn’t made it so the Chantry will never let me get there…”

That was good enough for Therese. She gestured for Evie to lead, looking vaguely irritated with this apparent set back.

So Evie took the lead, trying not to imagine all the horrible things that the Chantry’s magic might do to her if Strauss  _ was _ angry with her, and took a very tentative step into the first hallway.

Her foot settled against the plush carpet, and when no magic caused her to spontaneously combust, turn inside out, or - at the bare minimum - threw her back into the entrance hall, a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding slipped free of her chest. Maybe Strauss wasn’t angry after all. Almost definitely disappointed, but maybe not trying to keep her out entirely.

With bolstered confidence, Evie turned left and began to retrace the familiar path she had always taken when going to speak with the Regent. Whether it was the correct path didn’t really matter, it got her there regardless.

Beckett remained close at her shoulder as they walked, his presence a source of comfort in this place where nothing but their destination felt certain. She stole a quick glance at his pocket, then up at him.

“Do you really have to record every conversation you have?” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth, so quiet that even Therese wouldn’t quite catch it.

“I’ll have you know, Young One, that I do no such thing,” he replied with a smirk. “I only record the interesting ones.”

As they turned the corner, facing a corridor almost identical to the last. Halfway down there was another left turn, and at the very end there was a turn going right. Evie took the turn on the left, and then another, feet retracing the familiar steps, and sure enough they found themselves in the entryway to Strauss’s sitting room.

It was much the same as it had always been, a beautifully crafted set of double doors carved from dark oak with a crystalline window that was impossible to see through. The magic in the air always felt heaviest here, like a heavy blanket draping itself over them.

Strauss was definitely here.

With her shoulders set, Therese stepped forwards and rapped on the door before pushing it open and striding inside. Strauss had his back to them, instead staring into the fireplace at the far end of the room. To stand there unflinching, he either had a complete mastery of his will (which was definitely possible) or there were spells in place that he was certain would keep the flames from reaching him (also very possible).

“Maximillian,” Therese greeted coolly.

“Prince Voerman. Welcome. And to you also-” he very slowly turned around. “-Neonate. It has been some time since you last paid the Chantry a visit. I am pleased to see that you have kept… sensible company.”

His pale eyes - tinted red by his round spectacles - flickered over Beckett, to whom he politely inclined his head.

“It’s… been a long time,” Evie said quietly, hoping silently that she wasn’t sweating.

There was no doubt that her nervousness showed, by Strauss made no comment. His expression remained as neutral as ever, and he simply waved a hand towards the sofas, beckoning for them all to sit. A chair zoomed out from the corner, coming to an abrupt halt beneath Strauss just as he made to sit.

“I have heard much in the recent months regarding your situation, Neonate,” he continued, settling himself into his seat, the tips of his fingers pressed lightly together. “It seems that excitement is abound wherever you go.”

“It’s not a choice, to be honest,” she replied, settling herself beside Beckett, whilst Therese had a sofa to herself.

“I can imagine.” He looked the slightest bit sympathetic for a moment. “But I imagine many would lead very dull and quiet lives should they be given the choice.”

His head then turned to Therese.

“I apologise on behalf of your final guest, Prince Voerman. He is yet to arrive, and I see little point in beginning our discussion without him, else we risk repeating ourselves over and over again,” he said drolely.

“An excellent point,” Therese agreed, though Evie could see the ever so slight tension in the muscles of her face. She wasn’t overly happy about this meeting then. “Do you have any new information on what the Anarchs are up to, Regent?”

The conversation swiftly fell to tactical talk that went almost completely over Evie’s head, and she struggled to focus on what was being said. What little she did gain from the conversation, when her attention didn’t wander to the paintings on the wall or a particular swirling pattern on the wallpaper, was that the Anarchs were pushing hard Downtown, determined to cause as much trouble as possible, and that while Jeanette wasn’t officially aligned with them, Strauss had his suspicions that her cooperation with them ran far deeper than simply getting a kick out of spiting Therese.

“My sister…” Therese huffed and leant back against the sofa, arms folded over her chest and a leg folded over the other. “Of course Jeanette is at the heart of this mess. Why wouldn’t she be?”

Evie said nothing. It was, after all, an act put on by the two sisters. They let the rest of the world believe that they were at odds with one another so that they would always know who their enemies were. No doubt this was such a step in the dance. 

“If I may, my Prince, I would ask why you would take what is becoming a considerable risk in allowing your sister to carry on as she is?” Strauss asked evenly, his face as unreadable as ever as his head cocked a little to one side.

“Because she is my sister and my childe,” Therese sighed, massaging her temples. “While she has always been a pest, I couldn’t simply destroy her. Tempting as it may be, time to time. You understand, I’m sure.”

“Of course. The destruction of one’s childe is a troubling affair for any sire.”

Beckett shifted in his seat and Evie made a conscious effort not to draw attention to the fact. 

Apparently Prince Wolff was none too happy with an apparent violation of the Tradition of Destruction in his city, and now even with Marie dead and gone, Berlin remained a place for Beckett to avoid for the foreseeable future.

‘At least this time I know why,’ she thought to herself.

“So what do you propose, Maximillian?” Therese asked, reclining in her seat, hands still clasped firmly together in her lap and her gaze razor sharp. “Attempts to limit the suppress the violence and uphold the Masquerade are faltering, more of the youth turn to the Anarchs with each passing night, and even the Sabbat are growing bold enough in an attempt to reassert their presence in the Hallowbrook Hotel. My Sheriff has had to have the place swept three times now, just to keep it clear of the vagrants, and we still haven’t even located their Archbishop yet.”

“I am aware of the recent difficulties, my Prince. I have been following them myself,” Strauss said slowly. “And it becomes clear to me that your… attentions. Are not fully dedicated to our cause.”

If Therese’s gaze was sharp before, now she was practically glaring daggers at the Regent.

“And what,” she said in a very dangerous voice, “are you suggesting, Strauss?”

“In times such as these, the Camarilla must be focused and concise. You have certainly fared far better than Lacroix could ever have hoped to in such circumstances; you are pragmatic, discreet, and precise in your actions. But your sister…”

He heaved a sigh that may have been sympathetic, it was hard to tell.

“If she is as involved with the Anarchs as we believe her to be, perhaps it would be best that you allow yourself to focus on… reigning her in. If you are unwilling to see her destroyed.”

Therese didn’t blink.

“Are you suggesting I relinquish control, Maximillian? I didn’t realise that you deigned to become a Prince.”

“I do not,” he said matter-of-factly. “I am loyal to my clan and to the Camarilla. I have no desire for greater power than that which I already possess. What I suggest-”

But he fell silent as Therese raised a hand. Her face was neutral, unreadable. Her eyes didn’t flash with anger or indignity. She was… Evie couldn’t tell  _ what _ she was thinking or feeling. She could only wait until Therese actually spoke.

“You are right, of course. My family loyalty to Jeanette has compromised my ability to direct us against the Anarchs in the most effective capacity,” she said coolly. “Every day they gain ground and new blood. And while I have no desire to see Jeanette destroyed, she needs to be controlled more directly.”

Strauss actually blinked - slowly and deliberately - clearly having expected anything but this. And Therese didn’t miss it.

“I said before, did I not, that you would find dealing with me a far more predictable affair than you would with my power hungry peers, did I not Maximillian?” she continued. “I am not unreasonable, and you have made it quite clear that Jeanette is becoming a problem. A problem I would prefer to handle in my own way. So I will step down, and you can steer the Camarilla’s course. At least until a new, suitable candidate for Prince is found.”

Slowly, Strauss’ gaze turned to Evie.

“Tell me Neonate. What is your take on this situation?” he asked calmly, as though he hadn’t just been handed the entire city on a plate. “Do you believe that Prince Voerman should be prepared to step down so… eagerly?”

Taken aback, Evie swallowed.

Privately, she knew there was no way that Therese would hand over the entirety of LA to another Kindred unless she thought she was getting something better out of the bargain. It was evident that the Camarilla was losing the war for territory with every night that went by. If Therese was surrendering her power as Prince to Strauss, then no doubt she intended to return to being the Baron of Santa Monica. Not quite as powerful and not with quite so far a reach, but better off than a Prince with no throne to sit upon.

For her to make such a move, then it didn’t matter who held the reigns. The Camarilla was on the cusp of losing regardless, and she was trying to secure her own position. 

And there was no way that Strauss didn’t know that. He’d been around long enough and had observed enough Kindred politics to know what each move meant. If he was asking her, a Fledgling with no experience whatsoever, then he was asking for a reason.

Either he wanted her to call out Therese’s power play, or he was testing to see if she noticed.

Regardless, the pause between the question and the answer was probably telling enough.

“Well, I uh-”

She was cut off by the doors swinging open as none other than Peter Grouch arrived, sparing her from having to provide an actual answer to the question posed. Except he wasn’t alone. Standing at his shoulder, a good few inches shorter than him, was a Kindred in a pinstripe suit, with slicked back black hair and icy blue eyes that were framed by square spectacles.

In spite of his stature, the Kindred gave off a rather intimidating aura and Evie shrank a little into Beckett’s side as those cold eyes brushed over her. He placed an arm around her shoulders, meeting the other Kindred’s gaze.

Grouch stepped forwards, clearing his throat and inclining his head. Primarily at Therese and Strauss, while Evie was certain that she, Beckett, and Cesare simply received a barely concealed disgruntled scowl.

“Sire, my Prince. May I present Hardestadt, the Founder of the Camarilla.”

[]

Evie followed Beckett silently, lost in thought. Hardestadt had dismissed them almost immediately after he arrived, citing that he wanted to discuss the matter of the Camarilla’s position in LA before getting to what he clearly considered the secondary issue. 

In the meantime, Strauss had granted them permission to visit the Chantry’s garden - which was far bigger than should be possible in Downtown LA, so Evie guessed there was some sort of magical extension involved - and said he would have Grouch retrieve them when they were ready to deal with their issue.

Evie didn’t mind. She’d been expecting to meet with Therese, and had had the car ride to steel herself to face Strauss, but the Camarilla’s Founder was not something she had anticipated. Even Beckett seemed caught off guard. He’d thought that Jan Pieterzoon - the Kindred who’d left him staked naked for the sun in Amsterdam - would be the Inner Circle’s agent sent to speak on their behalf, not the Founder himself.

So the first few minutes of their walk was spent in silence, processing this new turn of events.

The garden had a beautiful gothic aesthetic, with iron wrought fences at its perimeter, cobblestone paths and low stone walls bordering the flowerbeds which were bursting with all sorts of plants. Some looked ordinary enough, with sprigs of thyme or lavender flourishing in vivid colours, even in the dark. Dense rose bushes sprouted along one stretch of fence, and thick growths of ivy crawled over a disused well near the garden’s centre.

Others weren’t nearly so normal. Strange vines swayed in the nonexistent breeze and she could have sworn that one tried snatching at her wrist as she passed, though it remained motionless as she stared at it accusingly.

The rain had stopped sometime after they had entered the Chantry, but from the look of it, you wouldn’t have believed that it had been raining in the first place. Not a single surface was wet, not a single bush shed a single raindrop. It was all… perfectly dry. 

Then Evie looked up and realised it wasn’t that the rain had dried, but rather it never reached the garden in the first place. Arching overhead, shimmering faintly against the stormy night sky, a barrier held back the rain, forced it to slide away from the garden below. It seemed that the Tremere employed magic in ways beyond hallways that always led to one of two destinations.

Gargoyles carved from granite were dotted here and there, peering out from the growth like silent sentinels. It was impossible to tell if they were of the regular stone variant, or if they were the kind that might spring to life and attack at any given moment. As they passed by one, Evie paused and stared into its lifeless stone eyes, all but daring it to move an inch and prove itself to be anything  _ but _ lifeless.

“Do you plan to spend all night staring down a statue?” Beckett called from up ahead.

Evie flinched and skittered away to rejoin him, flushing slightly.

“How can you tell if they’re the alive kind or not?” she asked, casting a brief glance over her shoulder at the gargoyle as they continued onwards. 

Maybe it was a trick of the light, but she could have  _ sworn _ she saw its eyes watching her from their corners.

“There are ways to identify a Kindred employing the use of the Visceratika Discipline, but they are difficult to explain, and take many years to be able to identify,” he explained. “Perhaps we’ll cover the topic properly another night.”

She cocked her head to one side.

“Gargoyles are Kindred?”

Beckett chuckled and smirked at her.

“Surprised? Gargoyles aren’t statues brought to life by magic, Young One. They are as much Kindred as we are, created through thaumaturgical rituals conducted by the Tremere Virstania, the infamous Mother of Gargoyles,” he explained, pausing and turning to her. “Their stony appearance is the work of the Visceratika Discipline, and so is in no way permanent as you may have been led to believe. Much like the Protean Discipline, Visceratika is a form of shapeshifting, though it focuses more on defense rather than offense. No doubt the Gargoyle you encountered had employed its use when you battled it.”

“No shit,” she scoffed. “I couldn’t tell you how many bones that thing broke, even with Strauss’ amulet.”

No doubt the gargoyle had been one of the most gruelling battles she had faced during her time in Lacroix’s employ. It had taken a sledgehammer and hours of playing cat-and-mouse throughout the theatre to bring it down, several blood bags just to keep herself from bleeding out all over the floor, let alone mend her body in full, and then she’d had to spend the following day curled up under whatever debris she could find to avoid the harsh light of day that filtered through the windows and holes in the ceiling.

Frankly it was shocking that she hadn’t frenzied before Berlin given everything she had gone through in LA. 

She scratched the back of her hand self-consciously at that thought. The worst of the fur and hair had fallen out, but there was enough left that she couldn’t help but notice it. Something Beckett noticed, and he gently slapped her hand away from the other.

“We’ve talked about that, Young One,” he chided, continuing their walk through the garden.

“Yeah, yeah, I know…” 

She followed, flicking a spider from her shoulder as she went.

Another thing she noticed about the garden was the fact that the night air was unusually warm, considering that summer had already come and gone. In fact, just before entering the Chantry, it had been crisp and cool. It was probably the work of the same spell that kept the rain from falling.

As they walked, Beckett said, “so, how prepared do you feel to face down the Founder of the Camarilla itself?”

“Like I would rather go for round two with the werewolf,” Evie snorted. “So, any and all jokes aside, exactly how much shit are we in right now, and what’s the likelihood we’re not leaving the Chantry alive?”

“Right to the point tonight, I see,” he chuckled. He gestured to a stone bench and they both seated themselves before he continued, “to be perfectly honest, it all depends on  _ why _ Hardestadt decided to attend to this himself, rather than send Pieterzoon. Regardless, for him to step in… I’d say both our unlives are on the line.”

Evie swallowed on the forming lump in her throat. The thought had already come to mind the moment Grouch announced Hardestadt, but something about Beckett saying it made it seem so final. And maybe he sensed it as he clasped a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Young One. Remember, we have proof that Roy has been deliberately flouting the laws and Traditions of the Camarilla for his own purposes.” He pulled out the tape recorded and smirked. “His own childe admitted as much. And Hardestadt won’t approve of that in the slightest.”

She nodded, but it didn’t silence the nasty little voice niggling in the back of her mind. 

Her father- Roy was still a Prince, after all. And if Isaac, an Anarch Baron, could get away with siring a childe without Lacroix’s permission, what were the odds that Roy would be let off with nothing more than a slap on the wrist?

But they didn’t get to discuss the matter any further. Peter Grouch, still dressed in his heavy fur coat with his innumerable piercings and a surly look on his face, stumped out of the shadows to stand before them.

“The Founder requests your presence inside,” he said curtly.

He didn’t wait for a reply, just turned on his heel to make his way back through the garden. 

Beckett sighed and rose to his feet, offering his hand to Evie.

“Time to face the music, Young One,” he said wryly, his lip still curled into a smirk.

She rolled her eyes but took his hand regardless as she too got to her feet and, with Beckett, followed Grouch back towards the Chantry.

[]

The tape recorder clicked into silence, and Evie couldn’t help but notice the smallest spasm of relief cross the Founder’s face. It was the first human reaction she had seen in the man. He didn’t blink, his chest barely rose and fell, and there was a stiffness to his form that suggested the absence of actions beyond what was required for day-to-day function. He was completely inhuman in a way she had not seen a Kindred before, and it was unnerving to say the least.

And the first human reflex he showed was due to his discomfort towards something as simple as a tape recorder. 

“So, if I am understanding this correctly Mr Beckett, this ‘recording’ is to be taken as evidence that Prince Roy Byrne of Leicester in England is in fact a Cleaver. And that he has posed as the biological father of this Fledgling-” his cold eyes flickered briefly to Evie who couldn’t help but recoil “-in order to feed upon her and her now-deceased mortal sibling.”

“According to Manse, Evie’s mortal family was only the most recent that Roy has inserted himself into,” Beckett replied coolly. “If her claim is to be believed, he’s done so with a number of others over the years.”

“A very serious infringement of Camarilla law,” Strauss remarked. “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Voerman?”

“Absolutely,” Therese concurred, glancing over towards Evie. “And not only that, but it would indicate that Prince Byrne was also responsible for an unauthorised Embrace in another Prince’s domain, which ended in the execution of a well-respected member of the Camarilla and had the unintended consequence of Prince Lacroix’s destruction.”

“A serious matter indeed,” Hardestadt said coldly. “If these claims are true.”

Evie frowned.

“Why wouldn’t they be? Victoria said it herself.”

She immediately regretted speaking out as Hardestadt’s attention turned to her in full, and she could feel his presence pressing down on her like a weighted blanket. It was stifling, and no small measure of terrifying. She shouldn’t have said that. Why had she said that? It had been so stupid of her, thinking to speak out of turn to the Founder himself.

“Had your adoptive sire not killed Miss Manse, we would be able to question her and verify the truth of her statements,” he said in a hard voice. “For all we know, her intention was to sow further doubt and confusion, rather than reveal any genuine truths.”

“Her adoptive sire has a name, Hardestadt. And you can stop wasting time intimidating a Fledgling,” Beckett interceded, glowering at the Founder as Evie all but tried to hide behind him now. 

This time Evie noticed as the effect of the discipline was trained elsewhere, the pressure lessening until it was barely noticeable. Enough to keep her wary, but no longer pounding on her from all sides, forcing her into submission.

“Whether or not Victoria was telling the truth about Roy being a Cleaver, it still proves that he is the one behind recent events, including the attack on the Succubus Club. Even if you’re unconvinced, this should at least warrant a formal investigation into Roy’s activities and history, don’t you agree?”

Hardestadt stared back at Beckett with no small degree of contempt before Strauss cleared his throat.

“I quite agree with Mr Beckett’s analysis, Founder. If Prince Byrne is willing to endanger the Masquerade for the sake of a grudge held towards a Fledgling, whatever the reason, it must be determined whether or not he is capable of maintaining the laws and Traditions of the Camarilla,” he said smoothly. “A Prince must show discretion and subtlety in their actions. Recent events would indicate that Prince Byrne’s capability to do so is failing.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room as Hardestadt leant back in his seat, his piercing gaze settling on Evie, though he wasn’t so much as looking at her as he was through her. He laced his fingers together and for a long while, no one dared draw a breath let alone speak. Then, without warning, Hardestadt rose to his feet.

“Miss Voerman, have this ‘recording’ transcribed and delivered to the Inner Circle,” he ordered. “We will conduct an investigation to these claims. As for you, Mr Beckett, Miss Byrne.”

His gaze was cold and unwavering.

“You are free to go. But you had best hope that Miss Manse’s claims are not found to be unfounded, or there will be a price to pay,” he said warningly.

And just like that, he was gone, the double doors clicking shut behind him. All at once, a collective sigh of relief filled the room, save for Strauss. If he had been at all on edge, it didn’t show. Instead his attention turned from the departed Founder to Evie with mild interest.

“It would appear that you have given him something to consider.”

She snorted.

“Or given him time to figure out how to conveniently get around it while only giving that bastard a slap on the wrist.”

Strauss chuckled.

“It seems I was not wrong about you, Neonate,” he said. “You will go far in this life.”

Evie’s shoulders sagged and she leaned into Beckett’s side, the tension that held her upright leaving her as Hardestadt’s presence finally lifted from the room. She wasn’t quite so confident as Strauss was. Hardestadt might not have had her killed on the spot, but that didn’t mean he was going to do anything about her father- Roy.

“So, what would you suggest Regent?” Beckett asked, helpfully filling in for her.

“Ordinarily, I would suggest that this be left to the Inner Circle,” Strauss replied serenely, his expression as blank and unreadable as ever. “However, they lack… urgency. Roy is troublesome so far as his attacks go, but there is no evidence that he has broken Camarilla law just yet. They will investigate, but it will take time that you do not have.

“Such a shame that you do not know that you do not know where Roy makes his Haven. It would be a shame if a fate similar to that of Prince Lacroix befell him.”

For a moment, Evie could have  _ sworn _ that his glasses flashed, just like they did in cartoons when a character had a flash of an idea or inspiration. She did feel utterly exhausted, however, so it might have just been her eyes playing tricks with the firelight. 

“A shame indeed,” Beckett replied. “Thank you for your time tonight, Regent Strauss. But I believe my childe and I should be on our way.”

“Of course. As Miss Voerman has so helpfully transferred control of this domain to myself until a more suitable candidate is found, I will be more than happy to extend to the pair of you my protection for the duration of your stay.”

Strauss inclined his head, then straightened up, head ticking from one side to the other a bit like a clock. He then rose to his feet and turned to the fire, clearly providing them with a dismissal.

“I’ve had rooms arranged for you at the Empire Arms Hotel,” Therese said as they stepped out of the Chantry and into the pouring rain outside. “I imagine you’ll be meeting with the Anarchs tomorrow evening?”

“I like to keep myself familiar with the goings on from all sides, Miss Voerman,” Beckett replied.

“Please, Therese will do. After all, we both know it’s only a matter of time before the Camarilla is on their way out.” She shrugged. “Disappointing, but then it shouldn’t be surprising. Sebastian all but ran the operation into the ground with that Sarcophagus nonsense.”

Evie frowned a little.

“So what will you do now? Do you really think the Anarchs will let you go back to being a Baron after your stint as a Camarilla Prince?”

Therese smiled - actually smiled - though her eyes flashed brilliantly in the low light.

“I hardly expect them to welcome me back with open arms, but who else kept this city from falling into complete and utter chaos after Sebastian’s death? I get things done, and I get them done quickly, cleanly, and efficiently. And if what needs doing is securing LA firmly against the Camarilla, then I’ll get it done.”

“Until siding with the Camarilla becomes advantageous to you again,” Evie pointed out.

“But of course. Fluid loyalties have kept me and my sister alive and have served us well.” Her smile curled a little. “If they didn’t, I’d employ other tactics. When you play at Kindred Politics, it’s a life and death affair, Evie.”

There was a pause, before Therese added: “regardless, I suggest you visit the Last Round tomorrow night. Jeanette means to be there, and I’m sure she would be thrilled to see you. And by that time, we might have something more substantial for you to work with.”

She winked - which was definitely a first for Therese - before turning on heel and climbing into a waiting car. It wasn’t the one they’d arrived in, so she’d clearly arranged for someone else to pick her up separately. 

And just like that, she was gone, her car swallowed up by the gloom.

Beckett quickly messaged Cesare before sighing and shaking his head.

“It could have gone worse,” he remarked. “Hardestadt could have just killed us both, after all.”

“Yeah…”

Suddenly she felt drained, and it left her in no mood to talk. She hadn’t known what to expect when meeting with Strauss. Anger, disappointment. But no, the Founder of the Camarilla himself walked in and all but threatened to have her killed anyway if there was no proof that her fath- Roy was a Cleaver. And what were the odds that there would be no proof. Sure, she’d had records of her life in Northampton. Her birth, her schooling, her medical record, all of which had to have some evidence of Roy’s interference with her life. But he’d have done away with those long before now, just to be sure that they couldn’t be traced to him.

And why would the Camarilla care anyway? Even if he was a Cleaver, he was also a Prince. They’d tell him off and then he’d be on his way. If he was anyone else, they’d do to him what they’d intended to do to her, but no. He was too powerful, they wouldn’t touch him. It’d be easier to kill her, some no name Fledgling, and have it done with.

The only option would be to find his haven and kill him, but… She’d already killed one Prince and inadvertently started a war for territory. If she killed another, there was no way the Camarilla would let her live for that. Not unless it could be proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was a threat the Masquerade-

“Evie?”

She jolted out of her reverie. Beckett placed a hand over her shoulder and guided her forwards towards the car.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

But he shook his head as they climbed in.

“I would say,” he grunted, closing the door behind them, “that you have nothing to be sorry for. It’s been quite a night, after all.”

“Yeah. Feel like I could sleep for a couple hundred years,” she joked, albeit a little weakly.

“Hm, well we still have a few hours until dawn. How about a trip to the library, and then you can focus on sleeping?”

She rolled her eyes.

“You always want to go to the library.” 

But she was smiling regardless. She could certainly use the break, even if only for a couple of hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so first off, apologies for the delay!! This chapter gave me a huge amount of trouble, and writer's block has been something of a problem... ~~plus eso got a new dlc so I've been playing that a lot .."~~  
>  I'm going to try and have the next chapter ready soon, but I think that now I have nothing pre-written, it might be a case of its ready when its ready so updates might not be quite as clockwork as before.


	20. Reflection and Resentment

The Beast grumbled unhappily as Evie wrenched herself out of bed, groggy and bleary eyed. The curtains were drawn tightly over the windows of the room, and the door was locked, so It insisted that they were safe and could just curl up in bed and sleep until the sun sank beyond the horizon and night fell, but sleep didn’t come. 

After everything she had been through, the last thing that ought to have kept her up was a visit to the Anarchs, and yet here she was, so fretful that she couldn’t sleep a wink. 

It felt unnatural. When she’d been human, she’d had her fair share of sleepless nights, but this was different. Her instincts told her that this was blatantly wrong. One wrong move, one misstep, and she’d be burned to ashes by the sun. She needed to be sleeping, curled up tight, until the danger passed. But she just couldn’t. She’d lie there, tossing and turning and fretting hopelessly, and then what? They’d show up at the Last Round and everyone would know she hadn’t slept. 

The idea was a mixture of embarrassing and terrifying. If the Anarchs realised how scared she was, surely they could latch onto that and twist it any which way they liked. Or they’d mock her, or-

Her thought was stopped dead as she staggered and nearly tumbled to the ground. She caught herself before that happened, and shook her head.

The room was spinning now. She didn’t feel safe. If Beckett were here…

“Ugh,” she groaned, rubbing her eyes in a vain attempt to shake off this grogginess.

If there was one thing she wasn’t about to do, it was give Beckett something to joke about at her expense. The idea of going to him like some little kid who was scared of the monster under the bed was even more embarrassing than showing up at the Last Round bedraggled and sleep deprived. And while he might be kind enough not to make fun of her for it tonight, that wouldn’t save her from his sardonic wit in the future.

At least… that was what she remembered thinking. So how was it that she was now standing in the deserted hallway, right outside of Beckett’s door with her lockpick in hand?

She frowned, trying to recall the brief lapse between that thought and arriving in this spot but found nothing. Her feet had just… carried her here.

The Beast growled, egging her on. Sleep was what she needed. If Beckett’s presence brought it sooner, then so be it.

And with that thought her body moved automatically. She moved closer to the door, blocking the view of the handle, and slotted the pick into the lock. She listened intently for the clicking of the tumblers. When she tried the handle - still not exactly of her own accord - it gave way and she slipped inside, shutting and relocking the door behind her.

Inside was pitch black but her eyes could easily make out Beckett’s visible form curled up under the blankets. She took a step forward before abruptly retaking control from the strings pulling her, even as the weight of sleep dragged her eyelids down, which made keeping them open a struggle.

This was humiliating. She wasn’t the same little girl who’d gone running to get into her big brother’s bed because of a bad dream. She was Kindred. One who had killed a gargoyle, a werewolf, and Ming Xiao. She’d brought down the Sheriff and was responsible for ousting Lacroix from his own throne. Of all the things she had faced, the Anarchs weren’t even close to being the most terrifying, and she was absolutely not going to go running scared to Beckett over a bit of lost sleep. She just needed to get over this nonsense, go back to bed, and  _ make _ sleep come to her.

She turned to return to her own room, to lie in her own bed and stare at the ceiling until night came and forced her into proper consciousness, but she was  _ so tired _ . Her eyes were itching, their lids drooping, and her body was trembling under the strain of staying upright. She had to sleep, and it felt so much easier in this room than it did in her own.

Again her movements became automated, with no conscious decisions driving them. She curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed, rested her head on top of Beckett’s backpack, and within moments, she was out like a light.

[]

Smoking didn’t do anything for Kindred. Not really. Their dead lungs just inhaled the smoke and exhaled it out. There was no inherent release of stress that cigarettes had brought in life, and the taste left in the mouth left little to be desired.

But something about the act of breathing in and breathing out, having something in his fingers between drags, took the edge off of the anxiety that was gnawing away in the pit of his stomach.

Provided nothing went wrong, tonight was the night he and the kid would finally be face-to-face again.

Without thinking, Nines checked his watch. It wasn’t long after nightfall, and yet he found himself repeating the action every few minutes as if it would somehow miraculously make the wait go by faster. If anything it made it feel like eternity was intent to drag its heels instead.

It had been a year, give or take, since he had last seen Evie. Covered in ash and grease and blood, not all of it her own. His dead guts twisted on themselves just thinking about the hollow look in her eyes and how he’d barely even registered it at the time. He’d been too taken by the flames and smoke that filled the night air, the Beast howling in approval at the destruction of the so-called Prince of Los Angeles, at the rising flames to proved to all Kindred that change was coming and it would come in fire and blood if it had to. The opportunities had seemed as numerous as the stars in the sky in the moment, but it wasn’t long before the smoke blotted them out.

It seemed fitting. Not for the rest of the Anarchs, but for him specifically. Like the dragged out battle for territory that LA was being subjected to was his own personal punishment for losing sight of what mattered, even if only for a moment.

A lone, abused Fledgling in need of all the help she could get, and all he'd seen was an opportunity. 

So he hunched in his corner booth, taking the occasional drag on his cigarette, glancing at his watch, and then to the door. And he did this over and over again as the minutes dragged by.

After over an hour of repeating this pattern and burning through several cigarettes, the door swung open and Beckett strolled in just as he had just a few months prior. Except this time he was accompanied by a very familiar face. 

It was the first time he’d seen Evie without her signature beanie, and her burned, bloodied clothes had been exchanged for a new pair of worn jeans, a grey hoodie, and a jacket over that. A familiar-looking tarulfang hung from a leather cord around her neck - no doubt Skelter would be pleased - and she wore her hair in a ponytail. 

She also looked tense. Her back was rigid, her shoulders rolled inwards to make herself seem smaller, and her eyes darted around the room the second she stepped inside. And all the while, she stayed close to Beckett. 

It was fair, Nines thought to himself. He'd been the one looking out for the kid for the last year or so. Had adopted her, and had responded faster than anyone to the phony Blood Hunt. No doubt she felt safer with him than anyone else in the entire world right now.

“Well look what we have here,” Skelter chuckled as he stepped out of his alcove to greet his fellow Gangrel. “Good to see you again Kid. You holding up alright?”

Evie just shifted closer to Beckett, almost like she was half hiding behind him. Skelter made no comment and instead nodded towards Nines.

“Nines has been waiting for your two all evening. Try not to spook him too bad. You’d think we were waiting for the Cams to come busting our door down the way he’s been all night,” he snorted, winking in Nines’ direction.

He just snorted in response and shook his head as he stubbed out his cigarette. 

"Long time no see kiddo," he called, trying his best to muster what he hoped look more like a friendly grin than a grimace. 

Evie didn't really give him a reaction to work with. Instead she just moved even closer to Beckett and looked like she wanted nothing more than to simply disappear into thin air. What little that he could read was the blatant mistrust in her eyes. The accusation. He couldn’t really blame her, considering…

_ “In three. Two. One. Boom.” _

_ Jack’s voice was all but drowned out by the deafening explosion, and for a split second Nines felt the Beast rear up in panic as the flames exploded from the top of the tower. The night lit up red and orange, and within moments the debris was raining down, cracking the asphalt, smashing cars, and threatening to crush anyone who didn’t flee in time. _

_ Nines watched as the chaos unfolded from the relative safety of the parking garage, the Beast’s fear quickly making way for jubilation at the sight of it.  _

_ Somewhere amidst the chaos and destruction, Lacroix’s ashes mingled with that of his tower. The Camarilla had been rudely unseated, their Prince gone, their power disrupted. And soon the rest would slink their way out of the Free State or would end up like every other Camarilla bootlicker who had tried and failed to chip away at their freedom just for a taste of power. _

_ There was no denying that this was a victory for every Kindred who dared to dream of freedom. And it was all possible because of Evie. _

_ Then it struck him. _

_ “Jack, did the kid make it out of there alright?” he asked as he stepped out from his shelter, Skelter and Damsel following behind. _

_ “I dunno Nines. Our friend on the security cams says he got a glimpse of her leaving Lacroix’s office a good couple of minutes before the bang,” Jack replied over the phone, as nonchalant as ever. Nines could hear him taking a drag from a cigar. “If she’s lucky, she was a few floors down when the Jack jumped outta the box.” _

_ Nines just rolled his eyes as Jack chortled at his own joke, like he thought he was the funniest dead man on Earth. _

_ “Still, happened like was said, right? Threw that thing out there and they were all just tearing each other apart to get it,” he said with a barked laugh. “Stupid fucking Cammies.” _

_ “Right. I’ll call you back when I find her. We’ve got a lot of work to do.” _

_ He couldn’t help but grin to himself as he slotted the phone back into his pocket, and then picked up his power walk to a swift jog. _

_ He hoped Evie was alright. Jack had gotten her back to his haven in one piece and made sure she caught a cab with a friend of his out of the city, after advising her to seek out protection from someone she trusted. Nines and the rest of the Anarchs had thought for sure that she would be end up at the Luckee Star, where they were hiding out after the werewolf incident, and that they could come up with a plan there. _

_ What he hadn’t expected was to hear that Evie had decided to go after the Kuei Jin leader  _ alone _ , and then Lacroix, with no help or backing whatsoever.  _

_ Bold. More than a little risky. Actually kind of stupid, even by Nines’ standards. But perhaps he’d need to revise his standards for Evie after tonight. She’d succeeded where the Anarchs had failed, and without a single year under her belt compared to the decades they all had over her. _

_ And there she was. _

_ No sooner than the three Anarchs came sprinting around the corner did Evie appear through the flaming wreckage; black hair singed and smoking, ash and grim smeared over every inch of her, and a good number of half-healed wounds that were still slowly knitting themselves together. She looked thoroughly exhausted, and rightfully so after all she had been through. _

_ “Evie!” Nines called as she stumbled through the last of the flames. _

_ She looked up, and the weariness was washed away by relief. Her eyes lit up and she grinned as she staggered free from the tower’s debris, her pace quickening to close the gap between them. _

_ Nines grinned back and opened up his arms as the young Gangrel all but sprinted towards him, and he caught her, squeezing tight. Every inch of her was trembling, likely from the residual trembling, but she was beaming as he peeled away, clasping his hands firmly over her shoulders. _

_ “Well damn Kid, I don’t think any of us could’ve pulled that off,” he chuckled. “Damn impressive.” _

_ She just laughed. It was small, more of a breath escaping from her lungs rather than a real genuine laugh, but it was better than nothing. _

_ “Hell fucking yeah it was!” Damsel swore, grinning more broadly than Nines had ever seen her as the firelight reflected in her eyes. “Now Francy-Pants is out of the way, we’re in business for real now!” _

_ “Hell yeah,” Skelter agreed, his earring swaying excitedly as he nodded his head.  _

_ He was grinning too, and it struck Nines that it had been far too long since Skelter had smiled like that. But then it’d been too long since any of the Anarchs had had a real reason to smile at all.  _

_ Between Lacroix, the Sabbat, the Plague-bearers, and the hunters, there had been too many problems to know how to start dealing with any of them, let alone put any plans into action (or at least any that Jack hadn’t been brewing on the side and hadn’t filled them in on until the wheels were already in motion).  _

_ And now, in the course of a single night, everything had changed. The Sabbat Archbishop was without followers, the Camarilla now leaderless, and the path forward was clearer than it had been in too many nights to count. The Anarchs had a chance now, to fight back in a way that meant something. And they just needed to take it. _

_ “So Nines.”  _

_ He found himself being brought back down to earth by Skelter, who was now watching him as Evie and Damsel were as well. _

_ “What’s the plan?” _

_ Nines looked down at Evie, and couldn’t help grinning. _

_ “There’s a lot to do,” he said, practically feeling his dead heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing with all the possibilities now open to them. “Plans to make. Fights to win. We sure could use you.” _

_ And just like that she deflated. The smile slid from her face and she stared at him as if he was suddenly unrecognisable. And then… it was like all the light drained from her eyes. Her gaze turned downwards and she took one step backwards. Then stepped past him, her eyes fixed on the floor.  _

_ His smile followed as he turned, staring at her in confusion. _

_ “Kid? Where are you going?” he called as she walked away, her shoulders curling inwards and her feet dragging along the asphalt. “I know it’s nearly dawn, but-” _

_ He was cut off by a brief pause followed by a single, trembling middle finger. _

It would have been easy to brush it off as nothing more than a terrible choice of words, but he wasn’t about to make excuses for himself. Right there and then, he’d seen her the way Lacroix had seen her. An asset, a resource, a valuable tool to be used and not cared for. He had looked at her, wounded and filthy, and thought only of how best to turn her against the Camarilla instead of trying to ensure her safety.

He had to do better this time.

So he gestured to the seat opposite himself.

“So, Jeanette tells me that you’re looking for an update on our side of the fight."

“Something like that,” Beckett agreed as he sat down. 

Evie sat beside him, but was determined to look at anything that wasn’t Nines. Instead she cast her gaze out over the bar, her eyes briefly flitting over Jack’s usual spot. It was still empty.

“Lacroix’s death had the Camarilla more than a little pissed off for a while after the tower went up, so Jack decided it was time to move on,” he explained. “Said the fight here was in good hands, and that there were other Ventrue in need of a boot up the ass.”

“Hm,” was the only reply he got, which was more than he could have expected to be fair.

“So. What exactly were you hoping to hear, Beckett?” Nines asked, reclining in his seat a little. “All our plans for giving the Cams everything we got?”

“I don’t need to hear the particulars. Did you hear that Therese stepped down as Prince?” Beckett replied calmly, cocking a brow.

“Stepped down? So Jeanette wasn’t bullshitting on that,” he scoffed. “And here I thought that Strauss had to pry that comfy seat away from her.”

“She only did it because they’re losing,” Evie muttered.

“At least you know what’s what with that lot,” Nines snorted in agreement. “Therese always did play fast and loose with who she calls friends.”

“But you’ll accept her back as a Baron regardless?” Beckett interjected, raising a brow.

The Beast growled, but Nines made a conscious effort to not simply let his temper get the better of him this time. No sense in alienating the kid further than he already had. 

“Jeanette keeps us tapped on a lot of the goings on around LA. Don’t wanna know how she gets half of it-” the rumours surrounding her got more than a little extravagant and he didn’t want to guess how many of them were accurate “-but it helps us. And for as much as they’re at each others’ throats, I doubt Jeanette would be happy to keep helping us out if we did anything to Therese. So we deal with it.”

Beckett nodded considerately. He didn’t seem wholly convinced, which was fine with Nines. It didn’t matter if the Gangrel believed it or not, it didn’t change how things worked. The Anarchs needed Jeanette, and if the best way to keep her on side was by not directly attacking Therese, then so be it. 

Besides if she really had stepped down and expected to be able to play her way back into the Baron’s seat over in Santa Monica, then Nines could at least make her work for it a little.

“DUCKLING!”

Evie all but leapt out of her skin when none other than Jeanette seemed to appear out of nowhere - as if summoned by mere thought - and threw her arms around the kid. But Evie didn’t try to push Jeanette away or wriggle free. Nines recognised that look on her face, the one she wore when forcing herself to calm down and regain herself. She didn’t return the hug, but, after a few moments, did seem to relax to a miniscule degree.

If Jeanette noticed the way Evie froze, she made no comment on it as she pulled away with a beam on her face. Her pigtails seemed to bounce with her excitement, and her mismatched eyes glittered in the low light.

“Oh Duckling, I’m so happy to see you!” she chirped, clasping Evie’s cheeks between her hands adoringly. “And here I thought Beckett was trying to keep you all to himself.”

She reached over and brushed a hand through Beckett’s hair. He didn’t flinch or push her away, just allowed it, though he gave no indication that he enjoyed it.

Nines raised a brow, and upon spotted the mounting discomfort on Evie’s face - as she was now firmly sandwiched between them - he cleared his throat and furrowed his brow.

“I’m sure you’re mostly here to see the kid, Jenny, but any chance you have something you need to tell us?” he said gruffly, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms over his chest.

He spotted the look of relief on Evie’s face as Jeanette (mostly) retracted herself to shoot him a pout. Evie was about to shoot him a look of gratitude before quickly thinking otherwise and just kept her gaze fixed on her lap.

“Oh fine, spoilsport. But one of these days, I’m going to get you to lighten up,” she huffed. “So, Therese. She’s been talking with her Camarilla ‘friends’-”

Nines snorted derisively.

“-and there’s already rumours about old man Roy and the accusations made about him being a Cleaver. In fact, there was a real uproar in Leicester. Lots of unhappy Cammies over there these nights, and the rumours have really stirred the pot.”

“I’m sure the Sabbat is loving it,” Beckett remarked bluntly. “A well respected Prince breaking his own laws.”

Jeanette nodded enthusiastically.

“Oh absolutely, darling. No word on who leaked the rumour in the first place, but Roy’s childer - the ones you haven’t killed, Duckling - are scrambling to hold everything together, and the Inner Circle is more than a little antsy about it. Can’t have any of those lovely little mortals thinking something is amiss, after all.”

She bared her fangs in a grin, teasing the tip of her tongue between her teeth, like the unfolding chaos over the pond was the best thing she’d heard all week. Nines would be enjoying the Camarilla’s losses too if he had the energy to spare for it. 

As it was, the ongoing battle for LA and his current fit of self-loathing took priority.

“So what are the odds they’ll drag him to a theatre and take his head off in a big fancy show like they tried to do to me?” Evie asked, but before anyone could say a word, she immediately followed up with a blunt, “oh wait, he’s a Prince. They’ll just send him a sternly-worded letter at best. A finger wagging at worst.”

And suddenly the tension snapped, and Nines couldn’t quite stop the grin that spread over his face as he tried - and failed - to stifle a laugh. Jeanette was much more liberal with her giggling as she dragged Evie back into another hug, and Skelter was shaking his head and grinning at the wisecrack. Even overhead, Nines could have sworn he could hear Damsel trying to stifle a laugh. 

It was good to know that, even after leaving LA and travelling with Beckett, Evie hadn’t forgotten exactly what the Camarilla was. And that her sense of humour was still in tact.

She wasn’t smiling though, which wasn’t missed by anyone. The laughter seemed to go as quickly as it had come, and the tension seemed to be settling in again already.

“So, what has Roy had to say for himself?” Beckett asked.

Jeanette shrugged.

“Nothing. Hasn’t said a peep. Apparently he’s been holed away in his haven and hasn’t commented on anything that’s going on. Maybe he’s angry that he hasn’t killed Duckling yet. Maybe it’s because the Inner Circle is deciding whether or not to kill him. Or maybe he’s busy trying to fix his combover. Who can say?”

She giggled to herself at her own little joke, but the uncomfortable tension refused to be dispelled again. Not that Jeanette cared as flicked her ponytail back, causing it to swing back and forth.

“But fortunately for all of you, Therese and I have a theory.”

[]

“So let me see if I’ve got this straight. Therese really thinks the Inner Council will turn on Roy, and are probably going to dispatch an Archon if they haven’t already?” Nines said disbelievingly.

Jeanette shrugged and tilted her head to one side.

“I guess they don’t like loose ends. And it would probably look bad if they let a couple of Autarkis walk in and splatter Roy’s head all over his haven.”

Evie scowled.

“He’s been trying to kill me, if anyone should get a shot at bringing him down-!”

“Young One…” Beckett said warningly, before turning his attention back to Jeanette. “By any chance, has your sister been working on securing the location of Roy’s haven?”

Jeanette grinned and pressed her hands together.

“Ooh, are you sure you can’t read minds? I was about to tell you all about that!”

She resettled herself in her seat, smoothing her skirt and flashing her fangs in a broad grin.

“Therese had some Nosferatu contacts doing some digging over in Leicester, and they’ve traced a regular limousine that goes to and from the Athena. Once they find out where it’s coming and going from, we should have a location for you.”

She clapped her hands together excitedly, beaming all the while.

Evie blinked, turning that over in her mind. 

The Inner Circle did plan to deal with Roy. They planned to have him killed. But they weren’t going to let her deal with it, instead they’d send one of their own. An Archon. She’d need to ask Beckett about that later.

But Therese was hard at work, trying to find Roy’s haven before the Inner Circle made up their minds on whether or not they should have one of their Princes killed so that she, Evie, could have a shot at payback for Jacob and Heather’s deaths, for her own death, and for every attempt on her unlife he’d made.

Well sitting in the Last Round wasn’t going to get them anywhere. She nudged Beckett in the side and gave him a quick glance. He understood right away and nodded.

“Thank you very much, Jeanette. There’s a lot for us to consider,” he said, rising to his feet with Evie following.

She scooted out of her seat to let them by, but she was pouting.

“You’re leaving already, Duckling?” she said in her sad, crybaby voice as she made her lower lip wobble.

“Yeah. Things to do,” Evie replied vaguely. “But I imagine we’ll be dropping by the Asylum soon to see what else you and Therese have dug up.”

“Well, okay. But you promise that once all this nasty business is done with, you’ll come back for a proper visit,” she said firmly, wrapping her arms around Evie one last time. “I really do miss you when you’re not around Duckling.”

“Sure, Jeanette. I’ll remember to do that,” she said, albeit halfheartedly. Right now, she really just wanted to go and be away from everyone else.

“It was good seeing you kid. Take care of yourself,” Nines called from his seat. “You’re always welcome here.”

She didn’t reply, just followed Beckett across the room towards the door. Freedom from this horrible, twisting resentment that was threatening to snap free from its constraints and turn her on them.

“Hang on a sec!”

She froze on the spot and debated just hurrying out the door regardless, but a hand on her shoulder quickly put that idea out of her head. She glanced up at Beckett who simply tilted his head ever so slightly.

Taking a deep breath, Evie nodded solemnly and turned around just as Damsel came to a stop.

The Anarch Denmother folded her arms over her chest, and her grey eyes were practically alight with her typical passion. Her lips were quirked in a snarl, and her brow was furrowed.

For a long few moments, she said nothing and neither did Evie, who felt increasingly confused as to why Damsel had emerged from her haunt in the first place. Her lips twitched once or twice, then she opened her mouth then abruptly closed it, before finally throwing her arms in the air in frustration.

“Look I’m sorry, okay? Sending you back to Lacroix was a fucking stupid thing to do, and I shouldn’t've done it. Kid like you... ...Anyway there you have it. I’m sorry.”

A lump stuck itself firmly in Evie’s throat as she started back at Damsel, and her palms stung as her nails dug into them painfully. She blinked and swallowed hard as the muscles in her arms and back coiled tightly.

“That’s it?” she uttered. “You think that because… because your sorry I should just. Forgive you?”

It physically hurt to say as her chest constricted painfully, and it took every ounce of self-control she had to not start trembling in her boots. Standing up for herself against Lacroix had been surprisingly easy, yet somehow talking back to Damsel felt as terrifying as facing down Prince Mukhtar’s trial. Her jaw clenched firmly and she could feel her dead heart thumping hard in her chest, as if it were suddenly alive. Not quite as fast as it would have done in life, but more like a slow pounding drum. She was aware that every eye in the room was fixed on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“You say your sorry, and it’s all supposed to just. Just go away? Like it never happened?” she continued thickly. “You forced me to go back to Lacroix when I told you that I didn’t want to, and it nearly got me killed! More than once!”

Damsel scowled, flashing her fangs.

“Yeah and it was stupid okay! I said I was fucking sorry Cammie, what more do you want-”

“Don’t call me that!”

Beckett stepped forward and placed a hand on Evie’s shoulder.

“I think we should-”

“No!” 

She pushed his hand away, still glaring daggers at Damsel.

“Tell me why I should even  _ begin _ to believe that you’re sorry for what you did to me! Hell, why the fuck should I forgive any of you?!

“You sent me to Lacroix! You-” she jabbed a finger at Skelter, who seemed utterly unfazed “-let her! Not once did you step in and tell her to stop! Neither did Jack, and he knew about that stupid box that whole fucking time! And you!”

Finally she rounded on Nines, and while he didn’t flinch, he had the decency to look guilty. Not that she cared right now.

“After everything that happened, everything they did to me, everything Lacroix and Xiao and the Sabbat did to me, and all you gave a shit about was turning me on the Camarilla! So tell me why the  _ fuck _ I should even  _ begin _ to  _ entertain _ the idea of forgiving a single one of you!”

There was a long, suffocating silence as no one dared to speak. The onlookers were glancing between one another, Nines had hung his head - ‘good’ she thought privately, ‘serves him right’ - while Damsel looked to be torn between shame and seething.

It was Skelter who broke the silence.

“Only you can answer that,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “There’s not a thing any of us can say to convince you. You need to decide for yourself if you want to forgive us, and if you don’t, well. I wouldn’t blame you.

“We fucked up. We let you down. You were a kid who needed to be protected and guided, and we made a mess of it. Each and every one of us failed in our own way, and there’s not a thing any of us can do to make it right. Just know that we’re here for you. If you need us to be.”

“He’s right.” Nines stepped forward next. “I’m sorry Evie. I know it’s not enough. It never will be. But if there’s anything we can do to help you take down that bastard Roy, just say the word. We’ll be there.”

“Fuck yeah we will,” Damsel agreed. She scratched the back of her neck and didn’t quite meet Evie’s gaze. “Look, I know I’m bad at apologies and shit. Always have been. But I am sorry. For all the shit I put you through. It was… shitty of me. And if taking down an asswipe Cleaver even begins to make any of it right, I’m in.”

Evie took a long, deep breath, looking at each of the Anarchs in turn, before she turned on her heel and left the Last Round without so much as a backwards glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back!! Hello everybody, thank you all for your patience in regards to this update. Writer's block is hell and all the demons have been plaguing me :) In fact, Evie's outburst was the easiest thing to write in this whole chapter; I've always loved the complicated nature of her relationship with the Anarchs, and in a way it was cathartic for her to finally get her say.
> 
> I can't make any promises of regular updates, but I will promise that one way or another, this fic _will_ be finished, and I hope I can close it out in a way you all enjoy.


	21. Necromantic

Some day, Evie thought to herself, she’d learn to mind her own business and leave well enough alone.

It had been nearly five nights since she and Beckett had parted ways with the Anarchs, and they’d heard nothing from Therese yet. It was frustrating, knowing that somewhere out there, the Inner Circle could have already sent out their Archon to dispose of Roy before she even learned where it was that he was hiding. There were scores to settle, people who needed to be avenged.

Jacob, Heather, her mother, herself…

It didn’t sit right that someone with no knowledge of all that Roy had done would be the one to put a stop to him. No, she had to be the one. She had to finish what she’d started all those years ago when she first turned that gun on him.

Of course there was no way to do that until Therese found out where Roy’s haven was, so until then, Evie would have to find other ways to occupy her time. And how had she elected to do that? A bit of harmless exploring, she’d thought. She’d always meant to go poking around the abandoned hospital Downtown back when she was alive, why waste the opportunity? It wasn’t like Beckett needed her to help him with his research right now. She hadn’t been very good at sitting still and focusing as of late, so she wouldn’t be of much use right now. If anything she was probably just distracting.

Now she almost wished that she’d tried harder to focus.

Claws crushed the wooden boards, forcing them out of the way as she crawled through into the next room. Another array of monitors had been arranged on the counter, and the thick layers of dust had been disturbed. Another member of the film crew had been here then. And pretty recently too.

No sooner than she’d risen to her feet and dusted herself off, a scream shattered the eerie silence. She jumped, but didn’t miss the brief shot of a woman being dragged screaming down to the next floor that flashed over one of the monitors. 

Whoever - or whatever - was attacking her wasn’t visible beyond a pair of hands wrapped in a vice grip around the woman’s ankles.

Evie took off at a sprint, throwing open the door and running at top speed down the hallway to where the screaming was coming from just moments before it was cut off, leaving only a dead and stifling silence in its wake.

By the time she reached the room with the camera, she knew she was definitely too late. The screaming had stopped too suddenly and had lasted too long for that woman to still be alive.

The camera focused on the spot where she had disappeared, and the boards over the wall had been forcefully pushed out as the attacker had lunged for their prey. Some tiles had been torn free in her frantic bid for escape, and all that was left was the increasing descent down into the dark.

If it wasn’t for the fact that there were still undoubtedly more of the crew still trapped down there, Evie would have considered turning tail and telling Beckett about her discovery. He might have an idea of what was down there.

But that wasn’t an option if there was anyone left to help. So she pressed on instead.

The deeper she went, the worse things became. The dilapidation of the facilities was one thing, with beds and gurneys piled up in what was clearly an attempt to deter visitors. That was no trouble, and in no way off putting to the young Gangrel. But the increasing volume of gore was another thing. Blood splattered the walls, floors, and even the ceiling, and there were smears on the tiles where the attacker’s captives had been trying to claw at the floor in a vain attempt to delay the inevitable.

Evie unsheathed her claws and let her heightened senses guide her through the labyrinth of hallways until she finally arrived at a door. Ordinary enough, with a single glass window that was reinforced with wire. Not that it stopped the smells from beyond from reaching her nostrils. There was more blood on the other side than there was anywhere else in the hospital. But that wasn’t all there was.

She could smell something amidst the blood and guts. Sweat. Fear.

As if summoned by the mere thought, a young man appeared at the window. His eyes widened at the sight of her before he seized the handle, trying to pull it open, but the lock kept it firmly in place.

“Please, you’ve gotta help me!” he pleaded, frantically checking over his shoulder. “It’s gonna eat me!”

Evie didn’t hesitate. She pulled out her lockpick and set about trying to pry open the lock.

“Oh god!” He started banging on the glass with increasing desperation. “OH GOD ITS COMING!”

“Just hold on, I’ve almost got it!” Evie shouted back as she pushed the tumblers into place with a rapid succession of clicks, faster than she was usually capable of. “Just another second!”

“ITS HERE, PLEASE I DON’T WANT TO DI-”

He was cut off by his own screaming as his blood erupted from his chest. It splattered over the window and obscured what was happening on the other side of the door, though Evie had no doubt that it was horrible. The screaming verberated in her skull and made her undead flesh crawl.

Strength she didn’t even know she had surged through her and she slammed her hand down on the handle, effectively wrenching the lock out of the door and forcing it to open.

Stumbling, she raced through into the room beyond. The morgue. And it was clearly not being used for its intended purpose.

The young man was laid on the table in the centre of the room, his torso wrenched open, and bent over him was… a woman?

No, her instincts told her. Not a woman. A vampire.

True enough, her heightened senses could hear no beating heart or gulp of breath. But neither were really her concern right now. Right now she was more preoccupied with the fact that the woman had her face buried in the man’s chest cavity, and that she was tearing into his organs with her teeth, stripping out muscle tissue and soft flesh and swallowing them down like she was starving.

Rooted to the spot, Evie stared in horror as the kindred feasted. And then paused. Then slowly raised her head to stare back.

She had brown skin that was mostly smeared with fresh gore, and decorated with black tattoos. Her long black hair she wore in a high ponytail, and she dressed in a long black, sleeveless dress that left her navel exposed. But somehow, her eyes were the most terrifying thing about her. White and pupiless, and gently glowing in the darkness, Evie couldn’t shake the feeling that this woman, this kindred, was staring straight through her.

“Real terror is not the sight of death, it is the fear of death” the kindred said slowly, in a low, quiet voice, apparently deciding the young gangrel was no real threat. “What is the fear of death? Terror of the unknown. Is it these eyes you peer into?”

Evie remained silent, unsure if she was about to be attacked or if this other kindred - who had clearly taken this hospital as her haven - was still getting her measure.

She stepped out from behind the table, leaving the now-lifeless body of the young man lying unattended with his chest open to the world. And when she began to speak again, Evie could see the strange, pointed teeth that filled her mouth, as opposed to the usual fangs that kindred possessed.

“No, I am not the unknown; you and I are closer kin than you and it were.”

She gestured vaguely to the corpse. She still hadn’t wiped the gore from her face and her gaze locked with Evie’s, making it impossible to really look away. And those teeth… So irregular and jagged. Perfect for ripping out someone’s throat and leaving a mess behind...

“What… _are_ you?” Evie finally managed to stammer after what felt like an eternity crawled by.

She knew there were other clans from what Beckett had taught her, but pupiless eyes and jagged teeth didn’t match any she knew.

The kindred simply raised a brow.

“Drinking blood to sustain your death, you are damned, yes? What if, besides the blood of the living, you had to eat pounds of their flesh to maintain that thin facade of life - what would you call it? Twice damned?”

A flesh eating vampire. That was a new one. She would need to ask Beckett about that, presuming she made it out alive. For all her talk of them being kin, Evie still had no idea if this kindred was going to let her leave, or if she’d have to fight for it as the kine had tried to.

“Who are you?”

“My birth name I tell no one. You may address me as Pisha. Pisha was the name of my lover and companion in a time before my death two hundred and thirty years ago. She has no need of it any longer.”

That was… interesting. If she was willing to share that kind of information, maybe she wouldn’t be trying to kill Evie after all. Maybe.

“Okay… but why are you living in a condemned building? Why make a haven down here?”

Pisha simply shook her head, her long ponytail swinging from side to side.

“This is not my haven, Fledgling. My stay in this city is transitory. I seek relics of the occult traced her, and would trade similar artefacts to acquire them… But.” She paused, then turned away as her eyes roamed over her meal. “If you wish to bargain with me, the kine upstairs must be sent down here. He has seen too much.”

Evie’s stomach plummeted and something inside her went very cold.

“No.”

The corners of Pisha’s lips twitched, and the look she gave Evie could be described only as disapproving. But only slightly for the moment.

“Tell him it was all just a ruse - his friends playing a joke,” she suggested. “He will come. He must come. If he leaves, the frail disguise we wear for mortals will be seen through.”

But Evie just shook her head.

“You can’t just use the Masquerade as an excuse,” she snapped. “You really think anyone would believe him? They’ll either write him off as mad or traumatised, and just say it was some serial killer-”

“Some will, yes. But what of those who know the truth, Fledgling? They would certainly launch their own inquiries.”

“They already tried that. Perhaps you heard about Bach and his lot,” Evie shot back with increasing defiance, her previous fear forgotten in the heat of her anger. “They all wound up dead last time they made their ‘inquiries.’”

“And so the next hunter has all the more reason to obtain vengeance. And with their death, so will the next. Killing hunters is not the solution, Fledgling. Evading them is. And the best way to evade them is to silence the kine who have learned that which they cannot know. Such as the one upstairs.”

It was almost infuriating how flippant she was. To be so cold and removed. Okay, maybe in her case it was necessary - she had to eat them to survive. But still…! How many Kindred ended up like this? How many just stopped caring? 

She could barely stand the thought.

“I won’t let you kill him,” she said firmly, turning her back on Pisha. “I’ll find my own way of protecting the Masquerade.”

As she walked away, all Pisha had to say was, “I somehow doubt that, Fledgling.”

[]

Back on the hospital’s ground floor, Evie searched for the director. If there was even a chance of Pisha pursuing him herself, then she needed to find him first if she was going to have a hope of fixing this mess.

There was just one problem. He seemed to have left already rather than wait for Evie to return. That was annoying.

“‘Wait here,’ I say. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ I say,” she grumbled. “Why does no one ever listen to me?”

‘Because they think you’re a dumb teenager,’ a little voice reminded her in the back of her head.

That, unfortunately, was true. Still, her search wasn’t a complete loss. In the lobby she found a business card lying on the ground, apparently dropped.

“Haunted LA, Simon Milligan, Skyline Apartments, Apartment 1,” she murmured. 

Haunted LA… Right, that was the show that Sam liked. It was always obvious that everything was staged and faked, and that none of it was at all real, but Sam enjoyed the show nonetheless. 

“It’s spooky fun,” she’d always say. “Besides, what if _some_ of it was real?”

“Well you’d be right about spooky, and wrong about fun,” Evie muttered to herself as she pocketed the business card. “Still, looks like they found their real monsters eventually…”

She knew where to find Milligan now at least. Now she just needed a way to convince him to keep his mouth shut… Or make him forget the experience altogether…

An idea began to form in her mind, but part of her would really rather not go through with it. It would mean a trip to the Last Round and asking Nines for his help. But if it meant protecting the Masquerade without having to kill Milligan for being in the wrong place at the wrong time… Surely she could bend her pride a little?

After all, she reminded herself, she always wondered why everyone else refused to work together when there were more important things at stake. Much as she would rather go to Beckett, she doubted he had the ability to do what she had in mind. Or at least, he never hinted at the ability to make someone forget things. And Nines was more likely to get in touch with someone who could.

So, after nearly ten minutes of hovering and going over her options, Evie finally steeled herself.

She would have to swallow her pride and look past her own feelings just this once. It didn’t have to mean that anything had changed so far as she felt. Yes, this was just protecting the Masquerade without resorting to bloodshed. Nothing more and nothing less. It wasn’t like she missed the Anarchs or anything.

Unfortunately she didn’t get the full walk to the Last Round to really drill that into her head. As she stepped out onto the street, the familiar roaring of a motorbike engine caught her attention, and in seconds, none other than Nines Rodriguez himself came to a screeching halt in front of her.

“Kid.” He pulled off his helmet - he didn’t need it, he just wore it to keep the cops from pulling him over - and gave her a quizzical look. “So uh. Still exploring, eh?”

“Yeah…” She fidgeted on the spot for a second, swallowed, and steeled herself. “Actually. I uh. I need a favour.”

He blinked, evidently stunned that she was actually admitting that. 

“Sure, kid. Whatever you need,” he said with an edge of eagerness that he was doing a poor job of hiding.

“I was wondering if you know anyone who can make someone… forget things,” she explained awkwardly, her hands fidgeting. “I saw Victoria Ash do it to some kine at the Succubus Club, you see, and there’s this guy who saw this kindred eating his friends and she wants me to kill him to protect the Masquerade but I don’t want to do that but if he tells anyone about what he saw then more hunters might show up in LA and if that happens then they could-”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down kid,” Nines said, holding up his hands to break off the waterfall of words. “Deep breath, then from the top. What’s going on?”

So Evie told him. About her encounter with Milligan, and her attempts to save his crew. About Pisha and her request, and her own refusal to end this mess with bloodshed. When she was done, Nines seemed completely unsurprised.

“Trust you to be this stubborn over the kine,” he chuckled.

Evie scowled back.

“You agree with her? He should just die because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“Hey I never said that. Just most kindred wouldn’t just tell an elder to go fuck themselves like that. Especially while they’re still covered in their meal. Takes guts, kid. It’s what I like about you.”

Her glare didn’t waver.

“Don’t get buddy with me because you think it’ll make me forgive you faster or something, because it won’t.”

Nines’ grin drooped and he dropped his hands as he turned away.

“I know. Just saying what I think. I wouldn’t blame you if you hate me for the rest of your nights.” He snorted and shook his head. “It’s like I said, there’s nothing I can say or do to ever make any of it right. But if you need me, I’ll be there. And if that means getting this kine off the hook with this Nagaraja-”

“Naga-what-now?”

“Nagaraja. Flesh-eaters and necromancers. If I had to guess from what you told me, I’m guessing that this ‘Pisha’ is one of ‘em,” he explained. “Ask the old man, I’m sure he knows more about them than I do. I didn’t even know one of them was in LA.”

“I think that’s the point,” Evie replied, jerking her head back towards the hospital. “So… you know someone who can make Milligan forget about all this?”

To her dismay, Nines shook his head.

“Only person who might would be Abrams, and I doubt he’d take the time out of his busy schedule to tend to one teeny little Masquerade breach,” Nines snorted. “He’d wonder if making me the goddamn Baron of Downtown was a bad idea if I needed to ask for a favour on this. Lucky for you, there are other ways to keep this under wraps.”

He pulled his helmet back on - again, not needing it - and patted the spot on the bike behind him.

Evie hesitated. It had been a long time since she’d ridden Nines’ bike with him, and that was back when she was still running with the Anarchs, calling herself one of them. Funny. Even when remembering, it was almost like watching someone else’s life. Strange how, even in the wake of her Embrace, life had seemed so much more… innocent.

But this wasn’t about joyriding for old times’ sake. This was just about getting to Milligan before he made a mess that would be much harder to clean up. So she tentatively climbed aboard behind him and curled her fingers into his jacket.

“Ready? Let’s go.”

The engine roared into life and Nines took a broad u-turn to head back in the direction he’d came before taking a sharp left. And suddenly Evie felt seventeen again, seated behind Nines as they sped through the streets of LA. She had to resist the urge to whoop as she had back then, as the wind tore through her hair and the turns of the bike made her feel almost weightless.

A cop did yell as they raced by, but they were long gone before they could actually do anything about their speed or the young, helmet-less passenger, and knowing that gave Evie a surge of adrenaline. She couldn’t quite help a laugh as they vanished from sight around a bend, and for a moment she let herself just… drift.

LA had been home once. Sam’s brother, Lee, had brought her here after she ran into his group of drifters on the road. 

“This life is no good for a kid,” he’d say. “Better you be settled a little while longer, finish up school. When you’re older, maybe we’ll see you on the road again.”

So Sam took her in at Lee’s behest, and Evie learned how to live without fear of punishment. She’d roam the streets sometimes, and found her way into the funniest situations that had seemed risky at the time but paled in comparison to the things she’d seen this last year. The worst she’d ever gotten was a minor citation from the police that had seemed like the end of the world at the time, only for it to seem so incredibly minor that it was barely an afterthought.

It was strange to see the city now, having prowled the shadows that she hadn’t even known existed when she was alive. She’d seen the best, the worst, and the most terrifying it had to offer, and it wasn’t home anymore. There was no Sam here now. No safety, no respite, and no freedom.

“We’re here.”

Just like that she was dragged back into reality and she realised that Nines had indeed stopped outside of the Skyline Apartments. She all but scrambled off of the bike as Nines removed his helmet. He dragged a hand through his hair in an attempt to neaten it a little.

“You’ve still got helmet hair,” Evie snorted derisively as she headed for the doors.

“You say that like you think your hair looks any better right now,” he shot back, as he followed her inside.

The lobby was empty save for a dozing security guard, whose head was lolling against his chest. Evie ignored him and checked the address on Milligan’s business card again.

“His apartment’s on the first floor.”

“Don’t think there’s anyone living on this floor, kid.”

She opened her mouth to explain the difference between the ground floor and the first floor, but then she caught sight of his stupid grin and instead just punched him in the arm. Still he followed her into the lift and waited for her to punch the button. The lift rattled before it began to rise.

“So how exactly _are_ you planning to handle Milligan?” 

Nines glanced sideways at her and winked.

“You’ll see, kid. Don’t worry.”

The elevator rumbled to a halt and the doors slid open with a heavy ‘thunk.’ They exited onto a small, but relatively clean landing. It even had a window looking out over the street below, which made it nicer than the narrow stairwell at the Pawnshop. There was a door with a brass ‘one’ nailed to it, and a keypad beside it. 

Not that they would have to worry about figuring out the code, as the door had been left wide open.

“At least we know he didn’t go running off to the police,” Evie muttered, more to herself than to Nines, as she stepped through the door. “Mr Milligan?”

There was no reply, so she moved further into the apartment.

It was definitely nicer than the one she’d called home. A lounge with a breakfast bar that kept it separate from the kitchen, a clean downstairs bathroom that didn’t have a busted medical cabinet, a flight of stairs leading up to a _balcony_ where a dining table was arranged, and a spacious bedroom with a double bed and _another_ bathroom.

“You think if I’d licked Lacroix’s boots more, he’d have given me a place like this?” she called over her shoulder as she closed the upstairs bathroom door and moved towards the desktop set up in the corner.

“Maybe,” Nines replied from downstairs. “Probably would’ve still tried killing you though.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Never said he wouldn’t.”

There was nothing of interest on the pc itself. No recent emails, and there’d been no phonecalls made on the landline from what she could tell. Milligan had come back here, but what were the odds he’d then left again? And if that was the case, how were they going to find him before he got too far?

In one of the desk drawers there was an envelope. Evie opened it and found a note accompanied by a photograph. It was blurry, but - to her horror - she could make out enough to know where this had been taken.

It was her, claws out and tearing her way through Glaze in a bid to escape her disastrous meeting with Johnny, and her first encounter with the Mandarin.

She glanced nervously at the note.

_Hey Ghostbuster,_

_Some high schooler thought this doctored shit would somehow make the front page, like he really thought anyone would believe that this was actually what happened at that club, what’s-it-called? Glaze? The one where some vigilante murdered a bunch of those rip-off Chinese Mafia types. Fucking hilarious, amirite? Sent the little shit packing, but held on to the photo because I thought you’d make better use of it in one of your little setups. The Chinatown Vampire or some shit like that._

_If you put it to use, I expect a cut behind the scenes. Even if the photo’s a fake, the work on it’s solid enough that even you could pass if off for the real deal,_

_-J_

Evie slipped the photo and note into her pocket, making a mental note to burn them when Milligan was dealt with. If he’d opened the envelope at some point, it didn’t seem that he’d connected her with the blur in the photo, but it was best to play it safe.

“Found anything?” she called to Nines, more to tear her thoughts away from another potential Masquerade Breach.

“Not yet. Think I heard something up near you though.”

There was a sudden thud from the wardrobe and Evie spun to face it, her hand automatically reaching for her belt. Then dropped as she focused, and a split second later she too could hear the frantic beating of a terrified mortal heart inside.

Carefully she slid the wardrobe door open, and crouched inside was a cowering Milligan.

“I found him!” Evie called before tentatively reaching forwards to place a hand on his shoulder. “Mr Milligan?”

He jumped so bad that he flew into the wall as his feet flew out from under him. He scrambled backwards, his pupils blown wide and a hand raised.

“Please don’t-!” he whimpered, his whole body trembling.

“It’s okay, Mr Milligan. It’s just me,” Evie said evenly, crouching to his eye level.

He stared at her for a moment as if she’d suddenly sprouted a second head, his mouth flapping open and closed like a fish for a moment.

“F-from the hospital?” he finally managed to sputter as Nines came into the room behind them.

“Yes Mr Milligan. I went looking for your friends, remember?”

Milligan relaxed ever so slightly, the worst of the tension uncurling from his shoulders. He still looked terrified, his face white as a sheet, but he wasn’t trying to put as much space between himself and her anymore.

“M-my friends? My crew- But the… The… are they… are they-?”

Evie didn’t get a chance to respond as Nines took her by the shoulder and steered her out of the way. Milligan recoiled in fright with a pathetic squeak and raised his arm again as he cowered beneath Nines’ furious gaze.

“Your friends are gone. You’re going to leave town. You will not go back to the hospital, and you will never tell anyone what you saw down there,” he ordered with a guttural growl.

Evie shivered, her own Beast recoiling as Nines’ presence filled the room and bore down on Milligan. 

Milligan seemed to shrink even further into himself as he nodded frantically, his eyes bulging in their sockets. Seemingly satisfied, Nines turned to Evie.

“Let’s get outta here, kid.”

[]

Pisha raised a brow as Evie walked into the morgue. The body was gone from the table, and she’d cleaned the gore from her person. Her head tilted to one side, her ponytail swinging with the motion.

“You return. And yet the kine does not,” she pointed out.

“I dealt with him in my own way,” Evie said coldly. “He won’t be talking to anyone about what happened here. Ever.”

“So you killed him?”

She shook her head.

“Let’s just say it helps to have the right friends. Like I said, Milligan won’t be talking to anyone about this, ever.”

For a long moment, Pisha just stared at Evie. She didn’t seem angry or baffled. She was just… watching. And with those pupiless eyes, it was a little creepy.

“The kine’s fate was sealed the moment he entered, Fledgling. If a man walks into the tiger’s domain, it may result in his being devoured.”

“And it may not. This time it didn’t because it didn’t have to.” She glanced towards the pile of freshly cleaned bones that littered the ground before meeting Pisha’s gaze. “After all, you seem to have eaten your fill tonight, and the Masquerade is in tact. So I don’t see what it is you have to complain about.”

“There is little point in debating the morality of it, Fledgling. We are creatures of the night, our fragile existence sustained by blood and flesh respectively-”

“And I’ve decided I care to debate the morality,” Evie cut over firmly. “My sire certainly has no problem with it, and he’s got over half a century on you.”

Pisha raised a brow.

“Your sire is free to train you as he sees fit. But that does not mean it is right.”

“Saying whether he’s training me right or not makes it sound like you’re debating the morality of his actions.”

A few cold seconds of silence passed before Evie turned away and headed back towards the door, intent on leaving and never coming back.

“I think we’re done here. If I were you, I’d move on sooner rather than later. Much as the Anarchs and Camarilla hate each other, I think they hate poachers just a bit more.”

“I’ll take it under advisement, Fledgling.”

[]

Nines was still waiting outside, fidgeting with the strap of his helmet. He looked up as Evie approached, the heedy rush of adrenaline from telling off an elder still flooding her system. He raised a brow.

“Good to see that you didn’t need me to go with you after all, kid,” he said. “Some elders can get pretty nasty when you don’t do what they tell you to.”

“Honestly… I think she would have if I’d just let Milligan go,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It was definitely easier to argue with her when she wasn’t covered in her meal, though…”

Nines nodded. And then for about thirty seconds, there was a long awkward silence where neither Kindred seemed to know what to say.

“Look, Evie. I meant what I said before. I know I fucked up. Bad. And I want to make it up to you however I can.”

“Nines-”

“Just, hear me out. You’re not coming back to the Anarchs. I know that, and I get it. Hell, I respect it. You’re deciding what’s best for you. But being Autarkis means you’re going to struggle to pull in favours like this in other cities. So I’ve got a proposal.

“I can teach you how to do what I did to Milligan. To make sure he kept his mouth shut. Then you won’t need to go asking anyone else for help, because you can do it yourself. Sound good?”

Evie hesitated and frowned at Nines.

“What do you mean, you can teach me?”

He leaned forward, folding his arms over his bike’s handlebar.

“Surely your old man’s taught you about learning new disciplines?”

“We’ve not had time to cover it. Y’know, with the whole ‘people trying to kill me’ thing.”

He conceded the point with a nod.

“Well, disciplines can be shared through consuming blood, and with a little direction on how to use it.”

Evie’s frown deepened.

“Doesn’t drinking a kindred’s blood make a blood bond? Like when we make ghouls.”

“Only if you drink it straight from a kindred’s wrist. Apparently the blood loses its ability to bond other kindred if you put it in a glass or something. Don’t ask me why, chances are only the likes of the Tremere really get why. And they won’t be explaining it to anyone else any time soon.”

He pulled a face as he said it, and Evie had to repress a snort. He wasn’t wrong though. The Tremere were very… touchy, when it came to their secrets. She’d found that out for herself when she rather innocently asked Strauss about the subject. After that, she always found herself on edge around the Regent, and she kept it in mind to never stick her nose into his business ever again.

“So… I drink some of your blood, and I can do that whole Presence thing?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“I’d need to teach you how to use it, but if you’re interested in learning, I’ll help you out.”

“...This doesn’t fix things, Nines.”

“I know.” He looked rather sobered as he said that. “But I’d like to think that it’s a start in trying to… I dunno. Make things better, I guess. And maybe give you an edge against the bastard trying to kill you.”

He shrugged, and added, “he certainly wouldn’t expect it.”

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds more appealing.”

He chuckled and patted the spot behind him on the bike.

“C’mon. If you’re gonna learn this discipline, we’d better get started.”

This time there was less hesitation as Evie climbed on the bike behind Nines, and something sharp in her chest seemed to dull at the edges. By no means was it gone or healed, but dulled. 

Maybe some things about LA didn’t have to keep being bad. Maybe some things could get better again...

[]

“You’ve certainly been busy tonight,” Beckett remarked as Evie all but dragged herself into his hotel room just over an hour before dawn - she still hadn’t taken to sleeping in her own room, so she’d given up and taken up residence on his floor instead. 

He raised a brow at the covering of dirt on her clothes and hair. “Exploring derelict buildings again, are we?”

“Something like that,” she replied, dropping herself onto the floor, feeling ready to keel over. For a moment she debated telling him about her lesson with Nines, but he’d mentioned exploring, and there was another thing eating away at her curiosity, so she decided to tackle that topic first.

“You never told me that some Kindred eat flesh to survive.”

He started, leaving a smear of ink on the journal page he’d been filling in and he stared at her incredulously.

“Where on earth did you hear about that?”

She smiled thinly.

“Met one. A Nagaraja, Nines said,” she explained.

She explained what had happened. Meeting the frightened Milligan, her failed attempt to rescue the crew, Pisha’s insistence that Milligan be sent to her to protect the Masquerade, and how she’d ran into Nines who helped her deal with the problem without sending the kine to his death.

Beckett shook his head when she finished.

“Of all the Kindred you could have run into in an abandoned building, it had to be Pisha,” he sighed. “I’m starting to think I need to keep you on a leash, Young One. What have I told you about insulting elders?”

“What have I told you about not giving a shit anymore? It’s one thing to kill people because you have to. It’s another thing when there are other options. Milligan didn’t need to die, it was just convenient to her.”

“Perhaps. But Nagaraja have ways of preserving bodies for longer so that they can feed on them. It’s likely that Pisha intended to keep him for later.”

Evie scowled.

“So I fucked up? I should’ve done what she told me to do?”

“I never said that. Certainly most Fledglings would have, if only to avoid angering a potentially dangerous Elder. But then, you’re not most Fledglings.”

“You’re right. I’m not.” She paused for a moment, and then asked, “so… you know Pisha?”

He shrugged, turning back to his journal.

“Our paths don’t often cross, as she prefers the study of necromancy as opposed to Gehenna and the nature of Kindred, but its happened on occasion.”

There was a sizable pause.

“...She’s tried to kill you for a relic before, hasn’t she?”

“And I her. It’s not exactly avoidable, and I’m one of ones that _tries_ to avoid it.”

“And yet you threw your lot in with me anyway.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Yes, Young One. I did.”

But before more jabs and insults could be thrown, there was a familiar buzz from Beckett’s jacket pocket. Evie sat bolt upright as he answered it, and he gave a glance that just read as ‘stop it.’

“Hello Miss Voerman. Yes, she’s here. She’s been busy traipsing around abandoned hospitals, so its nothing new.”

Evie rolled her eyes, just watched intently as Beckett listened. His expression quickly became unreadable as Therese went on, and Evie tried to hear what was being said with her heightened senses. Through the buzz of static, she caught ‘archon’ and ‘bell’ but not much else.

“Thank you very much, Miss Voerman. I take it you have some advice?”

Another pause as Therese spoke, though Evie struggling to focus past the static which just made her headache, so she stopped trying.

“Yes. Alright. Thank you. I’ll fill her in immediately. Good night.”

He hung up and put the phone away as he rose to his feet, casting a glance at Evie.

“Tomorrow I'll need to call Cesare to get the plane ready to take us to Heathrow. And you are going to gather everything that we’re going to need.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the hardest things about writing a fic where you've got an outline but you also let the characters drive the plot is that sometimes, bridging things is hard. I never intended for Pisha to appear, yet here we are. I always thought she and Evie would have one of the more... complicated dynamics, given their very different perspectives on the world and their nature. It was interesting to explore, even if only briefly.
> 
> Thank you all again for your feedback, your support really keeps me going with writing this monster of a fic - to think this all started with me just writing a oneshot, it's crazy XD


	22. Edge of the Abyss

_ "Jacob, what was mummy like?"  _

_ He always paused when she asked that question. His gaze grew far away, and his hands would find something to fidget with if he wasn't already holding something.  _

_ Evie sat on the swing, waiting patiently for his response. She never understood why he took a while to answer.  _

He was trying to remember himself, she now realised. The older she got, the harder it became to remember things from her childhood. The good things, anyway. Like the names of old school friends before she became the weird, unapproachable kid, or the names of the teachers who tentatively asked about the bruises but never said a word again when she lied and said she’d tripped on the stairs.

He'd been scraping his memories for the bits and pieces that he could recall. Sorting between the bits that he knew were real and the things he wasn’t quite sure about. 

_ "She was a lot like you. She loved animals. Sometimes she'd bring some home from the vets because they needed extra looking after, though she said we couldn't have pets of our own for a long time because there was never enough time to look after them. But you could tell she really wanted one anyway.  _

_ "She always did her best to smile too, even when things were hard. I remember her being really sad about daddy once, though… I don't remember why." _

_ "Had he been mean to her, like he gets sometimes?" she'd asked in a very small voice.  _

_ Jacob shook his head.  _

_ "I don't remember daddy ever getting mean with mummy. I just remember her being sad, when you were still in her tummy. She smiled when she saw me though, and asked if I wanted to do something fun. Mummy liked doing fun things because it helped her to stop being sad." _

Because pretending to be okay was easier than admitting that things were bad, Evie had learned. But the memory did make her wonder about something else. Something she'd not given much thought to since learning the truth about Roy. 

Namely the fact that since he couldn't have been Evie and Jacob's father, then who was? What had happened to him? Had he left, or had something happened to him? 

Evie wasn't sure she wanted to know. If he had left, then he'd left because of her. Because he probably hadn't wanted a second child on top of Jacob. And if he was dead, then was there any point in knowing? Knowing that she really had no family left at all? 

Avoiding the pain of knowing was undoubtedly the easier option. 

_ "You made her really happy though Eves. She was so excited, and it made me excited too. She made the idea of having a little sister bearable."  _

_ Evie had blown a raspberry at him.  _

_ "You're a meanie."  _

_ "Well it's true. And you're the best little sister I could have gotten. Mummy would think so too." _

_ There had been a very long pause before Evie dared to voice her question that day.  _

_ "Is it my fault that she's not here anymore?" she'd asked in a very small voice.  _

_ "What?"  _

_ "It's what daddy says. He says that… that it's my fault that she's not here anymore. He says that I’m the reason Mummy went away-"  _

_ "That's because daddy's stupid!" Jacob shouted hotly before wincing and glancing back at the house.  _

_ Evie froze too and kept her eyes fixed on the patio door, terrified of seeing the looming figure approaching in the glass. Talking ill of their father never panned out well if he learned of it.  _

_ Fortunately he never appeared and the siblings let out a sigh of relief.  _

_ "Daddy's wrong. It's not your fault," Jacob said firmly as he turned back to Evie. "The doctors should have helped her. It's their fault she's gone now."  _

_ "...okay." _

_ Jacob smiled and moved to stand behind the swing.  _

_ "Come on. We should have some fun before daddy comes outside to ruin it."  _

_ Evie felt a twinge of uncertainty, but smiled and nodded regardless.  _

_ "Okay."  _

[] 

The flight to the UK felt agonisingly long, no matter how often she lost herself in thought. 

Therese had gotten them a location. A ruined castle that had been decidedly overlooked by the National Trust, tucked away in the northern end of the country. It was far removed from Leicester City, and that was unusual according to Beckett. It meant that Roy actually entrusted his domain to his childer, and never once doubted that true control of the city lay with him regardless of who occupied the throne in his stead.

Evie was curled up on the sofa, trying to take her mind off of things by flipping through her old sketchbook. It was one of the only things she still had from her life before… everything. Lee had bought it for her. A way to get all the bad things out of her head and then add some good things too.

Now it served as a reminder for the life she’d had before it was taken away from her. She wasn’t sure if it was a comfort or just another bit of salt to rub into the wound.

“What on earth is that supposed to be?”

She looked up to see Beckett peering over her shoulder, looking rather incredulous at a particular doodle on the page. It wasn’t one of Evie’s, but rather-

“My best friend Rowan drew it in one of our classes. It’s supposed to be our teacher sitting on a mushroom, doing ‘shrooms,” she replied dryly.

At the time it had been funny. But right now everything seemed bland. Stale. It all paled in comparison to what lay ahead of her, and so it was hard to take pleasure in a small, silly joke she’d shared with her friend once.

Beckett seemed to realise that as he said, “Cesare says we’ll be arriving within the hour. Best get yourself ready.”

She sighed, running a hand over her face and rubbing her eyes. Well it would have to happen sooner or later. She just wished it could be later. And Beckett seemed to sense that as he patted her head affectionately before disappearing into the cabin at the back of the plane to ready himself.

Slowly, Evie closed her sketchbook - there was a sense of finality as it shut - and tried to decide how best to prepare. 

She left the book in the desk drawer, and she rummaged through her bag for other things that she wouldn't need and were taking up space. In their place she packed the blood bags, shotgun, and flamethrower that Mercurio had provided, and the sheathed sword she strapped to the back. If Therese's arrangements held up, they wouldn't run into any security that might ask inconvenient questions. 

She also paused to tuck a knife into her boot, just out of sight, and she holstered a handgun to her hip. She'd changed out her jeans for a lighter set of trousers that would be less restrictive in combat, and she now wore a durable leather jacket over a blue henley. The tarulfang hung around her neck, and she braided her hair back properly to keep it from hanging in her face. 

When Beckett returned, he was similarly prepared; his usual long coat had been changed out for a shorter, thicker jacket, and she could spy a gun at his hip. 

"How do you feel?" he asked. 

Evie blinked. 

"What?" 

"How do you feel? We're going to be going up against Roy and whatever remains of his forces. That's not insignificant. Especially not in light of what he's done to you over the years."

Evie hesitated and chewed on her lip.

“I just… I dunno.” 

She shook her head, as if trying to knock something loose, to make sense of the jumble of memories, thoughts, and feelings.

“I’m still trying not to think of him as my dad,” she said finally, knotting her hands together in her lap. “Everything he’s done, he’ll keep doing. He’ll just keep hurting me and people like me if I don’t do this.”

“You do remember that the Inner Circle has dispatched an Archon though,” Beckett pointed out. “He’s going to die, whether you do it or not. Didn’t you say that you were tired of killing and fighting just to survive?”

There was a long uncomfortable pause as Evie processed what it was that he had just said.

“After everything’s that happened, everything we’ve been through, and now you’re trying to talk me out of this?!” she snapped incredulously.

He shook his head, moving to sit down beside her.

“What I’m trying to do is remind you that you have options. Roy is going to die no matter what decision you make. And while I’ll support you if you decide to see this though, I would feel like a terrible sire if I didn’t at least ask if you were certain that this is what you wanted.”

He gave her a very serious look, the kind that lacked any of his usual sarcasm.

“You don’t have to be a killer if you don’t want to, Evie.”

There was a long, stony silence as Evie stared down at her lap. Her voice was soft and quiet when she spoke again, but Beckett could undoubtedly hear the tremor in her voice that betrayed the emotions threatening to spill over.

“He blamed my mother’s death on me. He beat me and my brother, screamed at us over things that didn’t matter, and treated us like property instead of children. Because of him, I had to run away and leave behind everything I had ever known, and I had to survive on luck and other people’s good will.”

She quivered as her anger began to mount, and her voice trembled.

“And then, when I finally start to- to feel  _ fixed  _ and  _ normal _ , he turns me into  _ this _ ! He had me die in the worst way possible, let me wake up again to slave under Lacroix, and now he wants me dead  _ again _ . And he threw so many people away, Heather, the Assamites, his own childer, just to get back at me for being alive!

“I  _ am _ tired of killing, Beckett, but I won’t let some stranger finish this just because its politically convenient for some arseholes in the Inner Circle. I’m finishing this on  _ my _ terms. And nothing you say will change my mind.”

“I know,” he said gently after a moment of silence. “I just want to ensure that the course we take is what’s best for you. Not for Heather, not your mother or your brother or anyone else.  _ You _ . You are my priority, now and always.”

She swallowed hard on the lump in her throat as his hand clasped her’s, and she squeezed back hard. Regardless of her feelings, his presence made her feel better. Safer.

“I know.”

She paused. The last few weeks had been jam packed with too many things, and no matter how hard she tried to push it aside, she was running out of brain space. Thoughts and feelings cluttered her mind, and if they were talking now, well. It was as good a time as any to try and clear away some of them.

“I… I wanted to say that I’m sorry. For Berlin,” she said in a small voice. “What happened with Marie-”

“You don’t need to apologise Young One-”

“No. I do. What you did- It was a long time ago. I shouldn’t have run off. I should’ve given you a chance to… explain.” She then smiled weakly at him. “I certainly shouldn’t have tried ripping your ribs out.”

Beckett just chuckled and patted her knee.

“Believe me, Young One. If I had wanted to stop you, I would have. And I would have barely broken a sweat doing it.”

He grinned like a bastard, as he always did when he was teasing her. Then he let it slip a little for a more sincere expression.

“And if we’re doing apologies, then allow me to apologise for not being honest with you from the beginning. If you had to know about Marie, it ought to have been from me.”

“And we could have made a plan.”

“Yes, Young One. We could have made a plan to deal with your ‘sister’.”

Evie pulled a face, and Beckett couldn’t quite stop himself from doing the same. Marie had been a twisted creature, driven by hatred and a desire to stamp out all that she decided was beneath her. Evie hadn’t exactly been sorry to hear of her Final Death. She didn’t seem the kind of person who was about to change.

They sat for a moment in contemplative silence before Cesare buzzed over the intercom.

“ _ Signore, we’ll be arriving in Birmingham soon. _ ”

“Very good Cesare. Remember to make use of Miss Voerman’s instructions before we land. I’d rather not have to deal with any complications when we arrive.”

[]

Complications, however, didn’t much care with what Beckett wanted.

He hadn’t expected to receive any kind of warm welcome in Birmingham. It might be a Camarilla city, but its Prince was a dependent one whose rule depended on bribes, favours, and the good grace of the Nosferatu and Malkavian clans. Beckett’s reputation alone would attract trouble. Evie’s? It shouldn’t have been the least bit surprising to find trouble walking up their driveway and knocking on the door.

In this case the driveway was a runway, the door was the spot of tarmac at the foot of the steps from the plane, and the trouble that had invited itself over was four Assamites who melted out of the darkness the moment the two Gangrel reached the bottom of the steps.

“You lot again?” Evie snapped, claws already unsheathing themselves. “Didn’t your boss tell you to quit trying to kill me?”

They didn’t get the chance to answer.

There was a deafening  _ crack _ , and the chest of the Assamite in the middle of the group exploded, ribs and flesh giving way as a shotgun round was emptied into his back. Beckett didn’t flinch at the unexpected blast, and he brushed his hand over Evie’s shoulder, keeping her from launching herself at the assassins or the newest arrival on the tarmac.

The Assamite, who couldn’t be much more than a Fledgling himself, stared down at the gaping hole in his chest as vitae spilled onto the tarmac and his undead organs sloughed out with it, before slowly glancing over his shoulder. There was a second crack of a gunshot, and his head burst like an overripe tomato. What remained of his ruined body crumbled as his fellow assassins watched on in horror, and his demise revealed the figure standing behind him.

“Theo Bell,” Beckett said, almost unsurprised at the Inner Circle’s choice in executioner. “So you’re the Archon who’s joining our little hunting party.”

Bell didn’t reply but the corner of his mouth did twitch. With amusement or disapproval, Beckett couldn’t be certain. Instead he just reloaded the shotgun as the remaining Assamites shrieked with fury.

As he unloaded another round on the one that drew closest to him, Evie sprinted forwards, dropped to the ground, and slid across the tarmac with claws flashing. 

The Assamite furthest from Bell was her victim, her potent claws making neat work of their hamstrings as they severed them entirely. The Assamite fell with a scream and twisted towards her, raising their knife. But Evie planted her bloodied hand on the ground, slowing her momentum. She twisted, pulled her legs into her chest, then pushed off from the ground. As she straightened out, she sailed over the Assamite, landed cat-like on her feet, and shoved her claws into their gullet. Their head rolled briefly before withering away as their body did. Dust in the breeze.

The third Assamite, who was still striking at Bell, was Beckett’s opponent. 

Taking him down wasn’t hard. He was so focused on the Archon that he completely failed to stop Beckett from seizing him from behind and snapping his neck. Momentarily immobilised, he was helpless to prevent the Elder from slicing his head clean from his shoulders, and like the other assassins, he crumbled into ashes.

With a final crack of his shotgun, Bell dispatched the final would-be-assassin. 

“Are you alright, Young One?” Beckett asked Evie as she rose to her feet.

“I’m fine,” she replied, trying to wipe the worst of the gore from her hands. “I’d like to know how they knew we were coming though.”

Bell snorted and Beckett raised a brow at him.

“I take it you have something to share with the class, Bell?”

For a moment he didn’t reply, just reloaded his shotgun and inspected it, making sure it was still in working order. 

He was dressed as he usually was; a leather jacket and baseball cap, a duffle bag hanging off of his back, and tonight he had chosen to wear shades. If any Kine glanced his way, they’d just assume he was an ordinary Black man, not one of the most feared and respected killers in the world. 

And he was respected, not just within the Camarilla, but by the Sabbat and even the Anarchs, who rarely had respect for anyone who didn’t openly stand against the Camarilla, much less someone who aligned themselves with the Ivory Tower. Theo Bell’s skillset and reputation had been crafted over centuries of intense hardship, relentless determination, indomitable focus, and a take-no-shit attitude.

“They got a tip,” he said finally, when he could no longer use inspecting his weapon as an excuse. “That Sabbat Archbishop in LA. He’s had it out for the kid ever since the massacre that killed his Ductusses, so when he got his claws on a tidbit, he passed it on.”

“The kid is right here, and she has a name,” Evie snapped. “It’s-”

“Evie Byrne. I know,” he cut over as he stowed his trusty shotgun away into his bag. “I did my homework. Old man Roy’s a Cleaver; he pretended to be your father, leached off of your family, had you Embraced in another Prince’s territory, and now wants you dead for good, all because you shot him and ran away from home. Right?”

Evie said nothing, she just glowered at him. Bell snorted and turned to Beckett.

“She’s your childe alright. Only you would let your Fledgling get away with looking at an Elder like that,” he remarked. 

“She was doing that long before I adopted her,” Beckett said matter-of-factly. “You can thank Sebastian.”

“Right.” 

Evie glanced from Bell to Beckett, then raised a brow expectantly. 

Once again the ignorance of her youth was showing; only the youngest of Fledglings or those without a sire wouldn’t recognise the name Theo Bell. He made a mental note to run her through the more famous - or infamous - members of the major factions that she might need to have knowledge of in future.

“I see that your reputation fails to precede you tonight, Bell. Evie, this is Theo Bell, an Archon for the Camarilla and, by some accounts, the first line of defense the Sect has.”

Bell snorted and shook his head.

“Only an idiot thinks that one person can defend the entirety of the Camarilla.”

“Considering that Lacroix’s private army couldn’t stop one person from killing him, I don’t have a hard time believing that,” Evie sniffed, not looking overly impressed.

“Shit, she’s as arrogant as you too. You  _ sure  _ she’s not your’s?” 

Beckett shook his head in exasperation and gave Evie a customary cuff on the ear. She hissed and glowered at him sulkily.

Bell, meanwhile, simply shook his head.

“I suggest the two of you get back on your plane and get out of here before more of ‘em show up.” He turned away and shoved his hands into his pockets. “This job’s gonna be hard enough with you two getting in my way-”

“No.”

He paused and looked over his shoulder. With those shades it was hard to read his expression. For all Beckett could tell, he just looked bored.

“If anyone’s killing that bastard, it’s going to be me,” Evie snapped.

And that was when Beckett felt it. That intense pressure rolling over him like a wave, a presence that pressed down on him from all sides… And had Evie not been a higher generation than himself, it might have succeeded in cowing him somewhat. As it was, he shrugged it off without needing to try too hard.

Bell seemed to be struggling to have quite the same success. He was by no means intimidated - he had far too much experience to be so easily swayed by a Fledgling, no matter how fierce her reputation - but he hadn’t been expecting it anymore than Beckett had been, and so he had to focus a moment to shrug off the effect. 

Bell scowled. Not necessarily at Evie, but rather because-

“No one told me you could use the Presence Discipline.”

-because his research had missed out on a particular detail.

“A friend taught me back in LA,” Evie said coldly, still scowling. “And I meant what I said. I’m the one who’ll kill Roy, not you or anyone else. I don’t care if you come with us or not, but you’re not taking this from me.”

Bell regarded her for a long moment, and Beckett still wasn’t sure if he was bored, unimpressed, or mildly entertained by her attempt to assert her Presence on him. But then he shrugged.

“Fine. Just don’t screw it up. Cuz if you decide to fuck around, I’ll take my shot. Whatever he’s done, my job is to make sure he dies one way or the other.”

He began to walk away, paused, then looked back at the pair.

“So are you two coming or what?”

“Oh we’re coming,” Beckett said, grasping Evie’s shoulder before she could retort or retaliate. “But perhaps we should fill you in on our plan first.”

[]

As it turned out, Theo had some ideas of his own. And since he could actually drive, it left Cesare to clean up the mess on the runway while the trio of Kindred set out to find Roy’s Haven.

More than once they changed cars, abandoning one for another, and on one occasion paying a cabbie extra to not question why he was leaving two grown men and a teenage girl by the road in the middle of the woods.

They made camp in the day; Beckett melded with the earth while Evie and Theo dug themselves burrows that were deep enough to protect them from the sun’s glare. They came across a village towards the end of the trip, and while they didn’t stay long in the event that there were Kindred who answered to Roy lurking about, Evie did chat with some local teens who were all too happy to tell her a few rumours about ‘some creepy old castle’ further north, just an hour or two away on foot.    
They were the only ones who would talk about it though, as the lady who ran the corner shop they’d been talking outside of quickly told them to “stop with that rubbish, everyone knows there’s no castle out that way!” before shooing them away from her doorstep.

Now here they were, camped in the woods on the edge of the castle grounds, staring up at the darkened ruin that didn’t betray a flicker of life or unlife within. But there was definitely something ominous lingering over the place… Like a heavy blanket pressing down over the grounds. 

Evie wondered if Roy had some Tremere protections in place meant to deter unwanted guests, a thought Beckett had shared and was the reason that the two of them were now creeping along the perimeter of the grounds, searching for any signs of magical wards or protections.

Well, Beckett was. Evie didn’t know nearly enough about magic to know how to start looking, let alone what to look for. And like he did with all things, Beckett made it into a lesson.

“Open your senses. Your hearing, your sight, your sense of smell. You know how you expect the world to be, so now look for where things feel different,” he instructed as he led her along the crumbled perimeter wall in a half-crouch.

Evie did as she was told, though wasn’t entirely certain of what to expect. Aside from the uncomfortable pressure lingering in the air which had no end or beginning, it was hard to get a sense of anything out of the ordinary. The cool night breeze nipped at her skin, and with it it carried the scent of grass and earth-

She paused.

A familiar scent caught in her nose, and it made her mouth water. The aroma of coppery blood drifted in the air, and judging from his expression, she’d noticed what Beckett had hoped she would notice. He beckoned her forwards to where the smell was coming from, further along the wall.

A series of stones were arranged at its base, and while someone had obviously tried to make it look natural - or like a small cairn a traveller might have arranged - Evie’s sharp eyes could see the leftover spatterings of blood and could smell it drying beneath them.

“Stand back, Young One,” Beckett instructed as he reached into his satchel for his components.

He worked slowly and cautiously, gently removing one stone after another until the blood beneath was exposed.

Something had been drawn in blood at the base of the wall. A circle with a series of markings over the top of it, like a pentagram but not quite. Evie remembered when she was younger, she and her friends liked to draw these sorts of things in the dirt as they played at magic. She had to stop when Roy had found out… He hadn’t been pleased.

“It’s a warding circle meant to keep Kindred away from this place,” Beckett explained as Evie stared at the bloody markings. “It’s a recent addition, though far from being a master work of thaumaturgy.”

“Guess Roy had to take whoever was available to fill Delilah’s spot in his little family,” she snorted, thinking back to the night that Delilah had burned out her old haven. 

It was far from being a pleasant memory, and her arm itched with phantom pain just remembering where Delilah’s blade had cut her. The sigils she’d used were expertly drawn and concealed, and did precisely what they were meant to do. Just like at her childhood home.

“True,” Beckett agreed. “These wards are amateurish at best. I’d be amazed if it could properly keep a Thinblood at bay. Still, best not to assume that this is the extent of Roy’s protections. I’d be disappointed if this wasn’t merely an outer layer, meant to lull us into a false sense of security.”

“Sounds about right. Let you think everything’s going to be easy, and then catch you off guard.”

“You’re learning. Good.”

“Well I’ve had some good teachers.” She cocked her head to one side and started grinning. “Some of them turned out to be pretty shitty, but I learned some important things.”

“Oh? And what about the not shitty ones?”

She shrugged.

“Few and far between, I’m afraid. Most have all these ‘ulterior motives’ that end up taking precedence. But there’s this one mentor I’ve had.” Her grin spread a little further as she folded her arms. “He’s a real pain in the arse sometimes, and he thinks he’s funny when actually he’s just a dick. But… he’s been there for me when I’ve needed him the most. And sometimes he manages to say the right things, even when he has no fucking clue what he’s doing, because he’s trying.”

Then her lip quirked.

“You’d probably make a million sarcastic quips about his sentimentality if you ever met him.”

He snorted.

“I am many things, Young One, and sentimental is not one of them.”

“Who said I was talking about you?” she snorted.

It earned her a warning look from Beckett before he turned back to his work of slowly and carefully investigating the exact magic at use. Or maybe he was trying to unravel it? Evie really didn’t know, she knew nothing about magic.

“Interested, are we?” Beckett chuckled. He’d noticed her curiosity then.

“I’d be more interested if I knew anything about what you’re doing,” she pointed out. “When this is over, if we’re not dead or anything, can you teach me about magic and stuff? I loved the whole idea of it when I was a kid.”

This time he actually laughed and shook his head.

“If there is one thing that will  _ always _ remain a mystery, it is little girls and their fascination with magic,” he said. “Let me guess, you tried drawing symbols like these and made ‘potions’ from whatever you could find?”

Far past feeling embarrassed by Beckett’s jabs at this point, Evie just laughed and nodded.

“All the time. I’d want to go looking for dragons too, no matter how many times my teacher insisted they weren’t real. I had this book - Dragonology - that was my  _ bible _ back then. I was convinced it was all real, and I took it with me everywhere. Even slept with it under my pillow.”

Beckett shook his head incredulously.

“My own sisters were no different when they were young, though they had to be far more cautious about being discovered. They were fascinated with all things occult; I personally didn’t understand why they’d want to catch frogs and scoop up their spawn when they could be searching for ‘real things’.” He chuckled. “Shows what I knew.”

“It’s weird isn’t it?” Evie flopped down to sit on the grass beside him. “How people never really change, I mean. Little girls being weird and wanting magic, and little boys being happy for a chance to dig in the mud. It’s funny.”

“It certainly says something about humans on the whole,” he agreed before turning his attention back to the warding circle. “Though there is one thing I’m still curious about.”

He carefully began to return the stones to their cairne formation.

“Who was this ‘friend’ who taught you the Presence Discipline?” 

Evie grinned, albeit hesitantly.

The idea of calling Nines her friend after all that had happened was still strange. She didn’t even really know if she thought of him as one again, even with recent events and their lesson in LA… It had been nice though. 

Back when she first joined up with the Anarchs, Nines had been the one to teach her how to fight, and had tried to help her with her aversion to guns. She probably wouldn’t have lasted nearly as long as she had if it hadn’t been for him sparing the time. Having another lesson with him felt like going back to a simpler time, when her main concern was getting away from the Ivory Tower.

“Nines taught me,” she confessed. “That night I met Pisha? After I finished dealing with her, he offered to teach me. His way of trying to start making things right.”

He raised a brow.

“I see. And I suppose you thought you’d keep it a secret so you could try springing it on me unexpectedly, instead of informing me so we could at least try and incorporate it into our plans?”

She grinned knowingly.

“Where’s the fun without complications?”

He shook his head at her echoing his words, and finished reassembling the cairn before rising back to his feet.

“We should head back to Bell and tell him what we’ve found. Provided he hasn’t run off to storm the castle without us.”

As it turned out, Theo hadn’t run off while they were gone and was still squatting over the roughly sketched map they had put together. Therese’s Nosferatu contact had obtained some centuries old plans of the castle, back before it fell into ruin, and Beckett had done his best to get a look at the place from above in his bat form. It wasn’t perfect, especially when Roy could have made any number of alterations to the interior of the castle, but it was the best they had… Or it had been.

Evie and Beckett stopped dead at the edge of the campsite. As it so happened, Theo wasn’t alone. 

Crouched beside him, wearing a leather jacket with a ruff of fur at the neck and lining the inside was a woman. Her long waves were dyed a pastel blue, save for the two locks framing her face that were dyed a pastel purple. Hoop earrings in the shape of hearts hung from her ears, and pinned to her jacket was an enamel pin in the shape of a rose. 

She was pointing at parts of the plans, murmuring to Bell as he scribbled down additional notes.

The woman stopped mid-sentence and looked up at the pair. Her expression darkened and her mouth pressed into a thin line at the sight of them, making for the perfect picture of disdain. She rose from her crouch to her full height, which was only taller than average thanks to her heeled boots.

“Even if Bell hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t be surprised to see the two of you,” she said coldly, folding her arms. 

“I see. And who might you be?” Beckett asked, as he placed a hand on Evie’s shoulder in anticipation for what was likely to be a poor reaction.

“Lisa Corner. Youngest Childe to Prince Roy Byrne and, until some months ago, Sire to Heather Poe.”

She all but spat that last bit of information, her arms knotting tighter over her chest and her eyes glimmering with fury. Evie, on the other hand, bristled with anger and her arms tensed, claws unsheathing themselves out of pure instinct.

“You sired Heather?” She made to advance, her mouth forming a snarl, and only Beckett tightening his grip on her shoulder kept her from leaping at Corner claws first. “ _ You _ fed her all those lies about me?!”

“I told her what I knew to be the truth, Fledgling,” Lisa snapped back haughtily. “For all I know, it  _ is _ the truth. And if it wasn’t for the fact that Roy’s obsession with you has relieved him of his senses and good judgement, and wasn’t actively getting our people killed, I wouldn’t be here trying to aid your Archon friend. Trust me.”

Their eyes locked as they stared each other down, both pairs of eyes filled with hatred for one another. 

_ ‘Do it,’ _ a little voice hissed as the Beast prowled its cage in agitation.  _ ‘She killed her. Rip. Tear. Feast on her power your’s. Take your revenge. It’s what she deserves.’ _

But instead of listening to the evil little voice, Evie stepped back. Her shoulders dropped like the hackles of a wolf that had decided to back down, though wasn’t prepared to submit just yet. Some part of her still wanted nothing more than to kill the Toreador where she stood, but another more rational part knew that Corner’s being here presented an opportunity. 

She was Roy’s childe. Even if she wasn’t close enough to him that he involved her in his schemes - and she evidently was, given that she was the one who had manipulated and sired Heather - she still knew the castle better than anyone else here, and maybe something about its defenses. Whether she could be trusted not to turn on them or lead them into a trap was another matter, and one they would deal with when they got to it.

“So what exactly can you offer us?” Beckett asked, keeping a hand clasped on Evie’s shoulder.

“So far she’s given me a run down of the defenses and layout of the interior,” Bell interjected, focusing on the plans laid out in front of him that had a variety of new additions to it rather than the drama that was threatening to boil over. “And she was just about to give us a way inside before you and the kid showed up. Speaking of which, find anything?”

“Warding circles against Kindred,” Evie replied, not taking her eyes off of Corner. “Pretty shit ones too, though we think its just meant to make us think it’d be easy getting inside.”

“Of course they are,” Corner sniffed. “Roy didn’t keep his seat for over four centuries by being sloppy. Though I understand that the Tremere Regent isn’t happy to hear that some of his apprentices have decided to remain loyal to their Prince instead of the Pyramid…”

She trailed off, as if she had realised she’d let slip something that she wasn’t supposed to have said. 

Bell narrowed his eyes and rose from his crouch.

“Are you saying that Roy broke the blood bonds of some of the Tremere?” he demanded, his voice cold and hard.

“And replaced them with his own, no doubt,” Beckett interjected.

Corner shrugged.

“I don’t know the particulars. I just know that some chose to abandon the Chantry when rumours that Roy had been added to the Red List began to spread.”

She began to twiddle her finger through her curls, clearly uncomfortable at having been caught out. She still didn’t look at anyone when she continued to speak.

“All I know is that  _ if _ Roy brought some of the Tremere into the family with blood bonds, it must have been some time ago. After Delilah died-” she gave Evie a very dirty look “-he needed someone to recreate the protections that died with her. And I doubt he’d have let just any Tremere do it unless he trusted them.”

“So he has blood bonded the Tremere,” Bell concluded, rolling his eyes. “And that means  _ you’re _ bonded to him too, aren’t you?”

Corner glowered back at Bell.

“And just what are you trying to imply, Archon?” she hissed. “I came to your aid because I recognise that Roy is no longer fit to uphold the Traditions of the Camarilla-”

“Which means you overcame the bond  _ for now _ . What happens when Roy finds out that you’ve slipped out of your room for a midnight walk, right when an Archon is trying to kill him?” 

“I’m already betraying Roy, you think I would risk-”

“I mean that it’s unlikely that you could overcome the bond a second time if he chooses to question you.”

Evie watched the two arguing when Beckett squeezed her shoulder.

“Do you remember what has always frustrated you more than anything, Young One?” he murmured. “Kindred letting their personal feelings get in the way of what needs to be done.”

She blinked up at him, then lowered her gaze and frowned.

Right. After everything that had happened, it was easy to remember when things were simpler. As if LA had been anywhere close to simple. But it had always irritated her when people refused to set aside personal feelings when the problem was staring them right in the face…

And she was walking that dangerously narrow line herself.

It was true that she didn’t  _ want _ Corner’s help; she had turned Heather against her, Embraced her, and so was responsible for her being killed in the end. She had every reason to hate her. But she was offering them a way to get at Roy. 

Much as Evie wanted to run in, flamethrower roaring, as she had at the Venture Tower, Roy was more than prepared to deal with such a frontal assault. They needed to be smarter, and working with Corner was the smart - if somewhat risky - decision.

“Is there a way to break the blood bond?” she asked, interrupting the bickering Kindred.

Both immediately fell silent, looking at Evie in surprise. Then they frowned.

“As it stands, Young One, there are only two ways a Blood Bond can be broken,” Beckett said. “The death of the Regnant, or Vaulderie. And I think its safe to assume that Vaulderie is not an option.”

“No, it’s not,” Corner snapped. She then closed her eyes for a moment then let out a small sigh. “Though admittedly it has been some time since Roy last reinforced our bond. Enough time that it has… weakened. To a degree.”

“Enough for you to resist telling him that you’re helping us?” Evie asked.

Corner hesitated, then nodded.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s not worry about it for now. For now, let’s focus on making a plan.” She turned to look up towards the ruins of the castle. “And when this is over, we’ll all be free. For good this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first off, I'd like to apologise for how long it took to update. Between real life and changing hyper-fixations and what have you, it's been a pain to work up the motivation to produce a good quality chapter for this fic. But I promised myself that I would finish this fic no matter what, and I intend to do just that.  
> I've gotta say I found myself pretty surprised with a _certain someone_. My characters have always had a habit of doing their own thing, but this was a surprise even for me and it really mucked up the already-vague outline I had XD  
> But hey, that's what keeps things exciting. No one knows what's going to happen, not even me!
> 
> Anyways, I want to give a shout-out to [Mudbloodedslytherin](https://mudbloodedslytherin.tumblr.com/) and [Badass-at-Cuddling](https://badass-at-cuddling.tumblr.com/)over on tumblr for all the love and support they've been showing me, despite the big lapse I had when writing this fic. They are both wonderful people, and I love em dearly.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the update, and I will do my damndest to get the next one out soon - the story is coming to an end soon, and it's been a pleasure to write for you all. Please let me know what you thought of the chapter, I love to hear from folks, and I'll see you in the next update ^^


	23. Toll the Bell, Sound the Death Knell

There was not a doubt in Evie’s mind that Roy knew that they were camped at the fringes of his estate, watching, waiting, and scheming to bring about his Final Death. He hadn’t survived centuries by being stupid enough to overlook an enemy so close to home. And tonight she finally had confirmation of the fact.

As the little black Wolf Cub carefully picked a path through the brambles, its bright yellow eyes fell upon a silhouetted figure emerging from the gloom. A young-looking Kindred wearing a body-warmer over a fleece jacket with a bag slung over their shoulder - they looked nervous, eyes sweeping over the treeline as they approached.

A small stone cairn, like the one Evie and Beckett had discovered two nights ago, sat rather conspicuously in the open. It was undisturbed, and on the off-chance that one of the Kine discovered it, they probably wouldn’t think it too odd. 

Humans made a habit of making odd little constructs in the middle of nowhere, after all.

The Kindred paused in front of the trees, still watching as if expecting something to leap out and attack. But the Cub remained still, lying flat to the ground with its ears pricked up, watching and listening carefully as the Kindred knelt down and began to empty the contents of their bag onto the grass.

First they erected a small fire which they lit with a match - it took several for them to actually start it though, as they kept flinching every time a struck match actually lit, and it would fall from their hand into the grass where it immediately sputtered out - before placing a bowl in their lap. They took a pocket knife and, with a grimace, dug the blade into their palm.

The Cub snuffled at the scent of fresh vitae, but maintained control. No need to raise the alarm.

Once the Kindred - who was almost definitely one of the Tremere who had abandoned the Pyramid for Roy - had bled themselves sufficiently, they sealed their wound shut and turned back to the fire.

With trembling hands, they snatched a handful of ashes. There was a whiff of burned flesh and they hissed as the hot flames licked at their fingers, but they succeeded in suppressing the Red Fear long enough to add the ashes to the bowl.

The Tremere then drew a wooden rod - a wand, perhaps? - from their inner pocket and began to stir the ashes and blood together into a thick, pulpy mass.

Once that was done, the Tremere then carefully deconstructed the cairn, revealing an old warding circle drawn beneath it.

Pinching their tongue between their teeth, the Tremere then took the wand and ensured the tip was thoroughly coated in the mixture of ash and blood. The fire continued to burn beside them as they began to draw over the old circle, carefully tracing the markings left behind in meticulous detail.

As they completed the final flourish, the circle glowed red briefly, and the Cub struggled to fight the urge to turn tail and run.

Satisfied, the Tremere doused the fire and packed away their bowl, wand, and pocket knife before rearranging the cairn over the circle. 

But before they could rise to their feet and return to the castle, the Cub launched itself forward. 

The Tremere gave a frightened yelp as they were knocked down by a blur of black fur and sharp, potent claws sunk themselves into their neck as Evie pinned them to the ground. 

It was horribly easy to sever the spinal cord. The head rolled free for a brief moment, and the body froze up as if going through a sped up form of rigamortis, before both promptly collapsed into dust. That was one less Warlock to deal with.

Now it was time to get to work.

Paws were better suited to the task, Evie decided as she shifted back into her wolf form and forcefully knocked down the cairn. She began to scrabble at the dirt, trying to ignore the burning sensation in her paw pads and the way her blood wailed with every moment of prolonged contact. When she successfully dug up the markings and a portion of the circle it finally stopped. The pain waned and her blood was no longer recoiling at the ashen blood now coating her claws.

Then she shifted back for the next part of her task.

Her fingers itched and her palms were red and sore, and they hurt more than her paws had, but it didn’t keep her from smoothing the earth and restoring the cairn to the best of her ability. It was about passable, enough that it wouldn’t draw any immediate attention which was the point.

Now there was the matter of trying to clear up what remained of the Tremere.

Getting rid of their possessions was easy enough, but it was the remains of their corpse that proved tricky. She tried to sweep the worst of it into the bushes or disperse it into less obvious piles that could be carried off by the wind, but it proved an annoyingly difficult task to do effectively.

When she was done, the Cub slipped back into the bushes on sore front paws and sniffed the air. 

Sure enough, she caught the scent of the Wolf down wind from her. So she trotted off in that direction. And she found Beckett just as he finished off another pair of Warlocks. One of them gave a dying shriek just before they crumbled to dust, and the other had the sense to try and run.

Beckett didn’t give them the chance to get far. With a single bound, he pinned them to the ground and took their head off with a single snap of his powerful jaws.

Evie yapped at him once, then turned to the cairn he’d found. Unlike the other one, there was no sign of a doused fire nearby which seemed strange. Head cocked to one side, she knocked over the pile of stones that marked the spot, revealing the ward underneath.

It was different to the other ones they’d encountered. One of the markings looked like a wolf’s head-

“Best leave this one alone,” Beckett instructed, now in his own human form. “It’s meant to repel lycans. Werewolves.”

Evie nodded and waited for Beckett to rearrange the stones and dispel the ashes. He shifted back into his own wolf form and they continued their patrol of the perimeter from just inside the treeline.

It had been Theo’s idea to destroy the wards in such a fashion. Not only did it keep the wards from repelling any of their allies, it also gave them the chance to take out the Warlocks that Roy had recruited, though it did mean that they were all but announcing themselves and their intentions to the castle and its denizens. And that put Lisa at a not-insignificant risk.

She’d provided them with a layout of the present day interior, which was apparently very different to what the outer shell and ancient plans told them, and had listed some potential ways inside. Theo had taken advantage of every detail she could provide, insignificant or not. Anything that could get them within a blade’s edge of Roy.

And tonight, everything was being put into motion. Including the final addition to their party, who Evie and Beckett were on their way to meet now.

The Anarchs of LA and Leicester didn’t make a massive force, but they were ready for a fight. It really shouldn’t have surprised Evie to see the likes of Tereza and Mindy present among them, and yet it did.

“Hey Kid! B,” Mindy greeted, flashing her peg-like alligator teeth.

“Nines called us after you called him,” Tereza supplied helpfully. “He told us that you could use some help dealing with this so-called Prince.”

“We’ll take all the help we can get,” Evie replied, grinning back at the pair.

“I hope so, considering who else decided to come along,” Damsel snorted as she marched her way over. “B tells me you weren’t exactly keen last time he came up.”

Evie frowned.

“Meaning?” It came off colder and more harshly than it ought to have.

Damsel just jerked her head.

“Come see. Just promise not to lose your head, Cammie, and save your rage for that Cape in his fucking Ivory Tower.”

She led Evie and Beckett through the Anarch encampment. Evie didn’t recognise most of them, and that was only partly thanks to a fair number of them being from Leicester. There were others whose faces she could vaguely recall from her days in LA, but she had never really said a word to. She’d been preoccupied, either training with Nines, doing chores for Lacroix, or sticking her nose into the business of every other person she came across.

She hadn’t really come to know any of the Anarchs, save for Nines, Damsel, Skelter, and-

“Hey Kiddo, been a while.”

[]

Beckett had to admit, Evie’s restraint was impressive. He’d half expected her to shriek in fury at the sight of Smiling Jack, but instead she ignored him to speak solely to Nines. Jack didn’t take it too personally.

“Guess I did screw her over pretty bad,” he admitted, scratching at his scraggly beard, which had only grown more wild since Beckett had last encountered him. “Ah well. Can’t say I didn’t look out for the Kid.”

Beckett would argue that letting Evie continue to run after the sarcophagus while knowing that it was packed with explosives was not ‘looking out’ for her, but he held his tongue. Best not to go putting words in her mouth for her. If she had anything to say to Jack when this was over, then she would say it herself. For now they had bigger problems.

“And I won’t pretend I like the idea of depending on some Camarilla toadies to do their jobs and not screw us over, but hey. Sometimes you gotta work with people you don’t like, right?” Jack continued, apparently oblivious to Beckett’s overwhelming desire to say something snippy.

“Right. If you’ll excuse me.”

Beckett didn’t wait for a reply. Instead he picked out Damsel’s trademark beret and flaming red hair and made a beeline for her. As he had guessed, Nines and Evie were with her, the three of them discussing strategy.

“I hope I didn’t miss much,” he said as he joined them.

“Nines was just debating if it would be worth driving his bike over the grounds,” Damsel said flatly. She was wearing a full set of biker leathers, complete with ornamental punk-spikes. “As if he’s not likely to get fucking shot off of the damn thing before he’s even halfway there.”

Nines held up his hands defensively.

“Hey, it was just a suggestion. Besides, last I checked, we’re the distraction. If we can keep Roy focused on us long enough-”

“The Cammie bitch inside can let Theo the Cape and Skelter in through some hidden entrance, and then they’ll take down security so the rest of us can get in, blah blah blah. I’m not stupid Nines, I remember the plan. Fuck.”

Evie rolled her eyes and glanced at Beckett. He just gave her a knowing look in return before he turned to Nines.

“Are your people ready? There’s a possibility that there are defenses even Miss Corner has no knowledge of.”

“Or didn’t tell us about,” Damsel interjected with a snort. “I still don’t trust her. How do we know she’s really betraying the bastard?”

“We don’t. And if she isn’t, Theo and Skelter will handle it,” Evie said bluntly. 

“We’re ready,” Nines said, ignoring them both. “Soon as Skelter sends word, we can get started. We Anarchs know a thing or two about fighting a war, and that was without any inside help.”

“Still needed mine.”

Damsel groaned.

“Jeez Cammie, how many times do I gotta say sorry about that?”

Evie just shrugged, then paused.

“I’m gonna go check in with Tereza and Mindy,” she said abruptly. “Kyra could come back any minute now.”

Beckett watched her slip off into the crowd before turning back to Nines and Damsel.

“I see that she hasn’t forgotten how to hold a grudge so far as LA is concerned,” he remarked.

“Yeah, no shit B.” Damsel shook her head. “I know we fucked up, but we’re here helping now aren’t we? Shit, we’ve practically left LA in Strauss’ fucking lap for her…” She paused for a second and then her face screwed up into her signature scowl. “I swear if that Magic Missile Casting Motherfucker so much as  _ touches _ our den-”

There was an ear-shattering screech overhead and a gigantic harpy eagle swooped down through the canopy and began to circle the Anarch encampment. 

“That’s the signal,” Nines barked. “Get moving!”

Suddenly the Anarchs leapt to life and gathered their weapons. They split into their pre-assigned packs, some with shotguns, others with molotovs, and every group had someone armed with grenades.

_ That can only go well, _ Beckett thought bitingly as he moved through the crowd in search of Evie. 

He found her with Mindy and Tereza, as promised. She had her sword sheathed at her hip; it was a long, fine blade, light-weight and perfectly balanced for someone looking for finesse in their weapon. She kept a pistol at her hip, and a knife somewhere on her person. She also had her backpack, which presumably contained the flamethrower Mercurio had given her. Why he gave her one of  _ those _ , Beckett wasn’t certain.   
Tereza, ever maintaining her lineage’s aesthetic, was wielding an enormous battle axe with Norse runes carved into the haft. Mindy had instead opted for a grenade launcher, and she was grinning viciously as she cradled it in her arms, those peg-like teeth glinting menacingly.

“Bringing yourself as usual, eh Beckett?” she cackled.

“At least I’m not compensating for anything with that contraption,” he shot back and Mindy’s smile curved a little further.

“Now I remember why you like him, Terry. Always honest.”

“It wouldn’t hurt him to keep his mouth shut every now and then though,” Evie added, grinning mischievously at Beckett as if she was daring him to reprimand him.

Tereza beat him to the punch.

“You’ve come to know him well I see, Little Cub,” she laughed, clapping her on the shoulder hard enough that it nearly knocked her over. “But now is not the time for banter. We have our own work to do I believe.”

The four Gangrel followed the rest of the Anarchs, and Beckett wasn’t sure what was darker. The gloom beneath the canopy, or the expression of the young Kindred walking at his side.

[]

Stealth missions weren’t something Skelter was exactly accustomed to. He’d always been a frontlines kind of soldier, always at the head of the charge with a weapon in hand. In ‘Nam, that was a rifle. These days with was either his own two fists or a flaming molotov.    
Tonight he’d been sure to come strapped. An assault rifle for dealing with the ghouls who didn’t have the sense to stay out of his way, pre-prepared (and unlit) molotovs in the event he needed to keep the enemy at bay, and potent Protean claws when things got up close and personal.

All Bell had was his trusty shotgun, and he didn’t bother storing it in a bag as he normally did. Skelter had to admit, if he had to be stuck working with a Camarilla Cape, he was glad it was Bell. He, at least, would be dependable in a fight and wasn’t likely to turn on them when it was over. Not impossible, but not likely.   
And for all their differences, the two had a mutual understanding and respect for one another. Their experiences might not be identical, but there were some they shared, and so while Skelter didn’t agree with where Bell ended up, he did get why he was there.

Somewhere on the opposite side of the estate, there were flashes of light and bursts of gunfire, which were accompanied by an ear-wracking explosion and bits of debris flew up into the sky. Whether it was earth or bits of the castle itself, Skelter couldn’t tell. 

He felt a twinge of envy. What he wouldn’t give to be out there fighting alongside his fellow Anarchs instead of skulking in the shadows with Bell. But his part in the plan was important, so he’d do what was asked of him, if only for the Kid’s sake.

As ghouls and Kindred were up in arms, rushing around, trying to secure the castle grounds, Skelter and Bell moved undetected along the eastern wall of the main structure, keeping low and to the shadows.

Their destination was a squat building off of the main structure; it was previously the servant’s quarters from when the castle was still operational. Now it was a holding pen for the Kine who trespassed on the grounds, and now provided sustenance for the Kindred who called the estate home. 

According to Corner, there was an underground passage that allowed ‘cattle’ to be moved to and from the castle without being detected. It was also something of a security weak spot apparently, with ghouls for guards and alarmed cell doors, which were little to no trouble for two well-armed Kindred. Provided Corner kept her word and did her job, getting in ought not to be too much trouble.

It was asking for the kind of trust that Skelter wouldn’t put in some Anarchs, much less a Camarilla Cape. No doubt, the Elders must be having fun tugging on their chains right now, moving them across their chessboard in their twisted games.

He gave himself a shake. He needed to focus on the mission. Jyhad needed to be the furthest thing from his mind right now.

There was another explosion and the night sky briefly turned orange with the intensity of the blast.

‘All this for one Fledgling,’ he thought. ‘We’re all getting soft.’

A single ghoul was guarding the servant’s quarters and it wasn’t easy to take her out. Bell flitted forward at unnatural speeds and took her down with a single punch. He hoisted her over his shoulder as Skelter joined him and kicked open the door.

The stench hit him almost immediately. Damp straw, blood, and sweat mingled in the air. The cells were surprisingly numerous, and cramped. Human beings were all but stacked in cages, one on top of the other, and many huddled back as far as they could in fear as the two Kindred stepped into the room, one with an unconscious woman over his shoulder.

The blood, Skelter realised, came from open sores that covered the Kine’s bare skin, and many of them were gaunt and pale from being fed from over and over again. Some wore manacles around their wrists and ankles, while others wore heavy looking collars. Those who hadn’t recoiled just stared blankly, already having lost all hope.

Now Skelter didn’t get himself too worked up over mortals. He hadn’t been one for a long time, and at the end of the day, their problems were like drops in a pond compared to his own. He didn’t care to make their lives harder, but he wasn’t going to try and make them any easier either. But something inside of him  _ knew _ this was wrong. That it was sick and unnecessary, and it was screaming at him to  _ do something _ .

“So much for Camarilla benevolence,” Skelter hissed, not caring to look at Bell.

Bell looked equally disgusted with the squalid conditions.

“You know the Camarilla. They’ve got better things to do than concern themselves with how everyone stores their meals,” he snorted. “Can’t have this lot running around though. It’ll just tip them off.”

“I know.” 

It was still sick though. When the fighting was over, he’d round up an Anarchs who might be capable of wiping memories, and tip off the local authorities. With any luck it would come over as-

“I’ll put in a word with the Justiciar. Wipe their memories, make it look like a human trafficking job,” Bell said, interrupting Skelter mid-thought. “Should keep anyone from asking too many questions.”

Skelter scowled sideways at the Archon but shrugged.

“Whatever. Gotta keep that Camarilla reputation nice and shiny, right?” he snorted. “Let’s just find this goddamn door Corner’s meant to be opening for us.”

Bell dumped the unconscious ghoul in a dark corner where she was unlikely to be found immediately, and the pair moved through the narrow rows of cages. Eyes watched them, but no one made a sound. No doubt they thought that the Kindred were there to feed, or to take them away to be fed upon, so no one dared draw attention to themselves.

The smells got worse the further in they went, and soon they discovered that the building was bigger than it appeared. Stairs led downwards and below were even more cages with even more people trapped inside. Some looked close to death, and Skelter wondered how many of them had been written off as dead for years now.

“I thought Roy was a Cleaver. Why so many captives?” he muttered.

“He’s got a lot of childer for one,” Bell replied. “And he doesn’t seem to have inserted himself into a new mortal family yet. Probably doesn’t plan to until a certain Fledgling is dead for good. He needs to feed too, and this makes sure he’s got a steady supply.”

“Yeah, probably doesn’t get too many mortals coming out this way. Think he’d take better care of ‘em, considering.”

“Probably thinks that’s beneath him.”

On that they could agree.

There was another set of stairs leading down into the earth, but there were no more cages awaiting them. Instead there were steel medical tables set on smooth, clean concrete. Drawers of needles and syringes stood beside them, and there was a rack of crisp white aprons and face masks arranged along the wall closest to a heavy metal door with a series of electronic locks; a small monitor and a microphone was set into the wall beside it. On the wall on the other side of the door were rows of chains and manacles in various sizes, all clean and ready for use.

“Guess this is where they process their meals,” Bell muttered. “Make sure the blood is good for consumption before taking them through to the dining room.”

Skelter made no remark and simply marched over to the door. He depressed the button besides the microphone and murmured, “Corner?”

There was a brief burst of static, silence, and then a beep. The electronic locks disengaged with a heavy  _ kerchunk _ .

_ MOVE! _

He did what his instincts screamed at him to do and leapt backwards. He slid over one of the medical tables, kicked it over and took cover as no less than five ghouls opened fire through the door.

[]

Out on the estate grounds, which had swiftly become a battlefield, Evie rammed her sword through a Nosferatu’s sternum before taking their head clean off with her claws. 

Nearby, Beckett had a ghoul by the throat as Tereza swung her axe with enough force that the Kindred that had been running at her was sent sailing into the air. When they hit the ground, Mindy caved their torso in with a single stomp of her foot.

Nines had his hand cannon and was punching holes into every Kindred that came within firing range of him while Damsel was busy swinging a sharpened leadpipe at anyone that Nines missed.    
Jack meanwhile had commandeered Nines’ bike without permission and was cackling at the top of his lungs as he kicked up chunks of mud and ran over anyone who wasn’t able to get out of his path fast enough.

Throw in the occasional grenade or molotov exploding, and it was complete and utter chaos.

Evie ripped the sword out of the Nosferatu before reversing her grip and bringing it close to her hip so that the blade was pointed behind her. She stabbed and the Kindred that had thrown herself at her ended up impaled through just before Beckett’s clawed hand ripped a good chunk of vertebrae out of her back.

Dead or in torpor, it didn’t matter. She was still unmoving on the ground as Evie let go of the sword and pulled her flamethrower out of her bag as a very tall, very angry looking Gangrel came barrelling towards her at high speed. 

The burst of the flames didn’t exactly  _ stop _ them, but the agony of the fire made them sloppy and uncoordinated as they hollered in pain. Evie side stepped and squeezed the trigger again, burning away at their iron-like skin. It gave Nines a chance to line up a perfect headshot, which had them howling on their hands and knees, desperately trying to close up their wounds before Damsel ran in and shoved her pipe through their neck.

The Gangrel immediately crumbled to ash and Damsel hoisted her pipe back into her hands, clenching it so hard that her already-white knuckles went whiter.

“THAT’S RIGHT! WHICH ONE OF YOU FUCKING CAMARILLA WHORES WANTS A PIECE OF ME?! I’LL KILL EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU ARSE-KISSING, TOWER-LOVING, PEARL-CLUTCHING BITCHES,” she screamed, taking a swipe at a gun-toting ghoul who was out of her range but clearly petrified with fear.

“As colourful as ever, Damsel,” Beckett remarked as he ducked a bullet that had been fired from the crumbling ramparts.

“Less sass, more fighting,” Evie barked, slinging the flamethrower over her back and picking up her sword again. “Damn it, what is taking them so long?!”

[]

Back inside the prison building, Skelter and Bell engaged in a firefight with the ghouls. It was annoying how long it was taking to dispatch them, but it was obvious that they had been prepared ahead of time, with bullet-proof vests, the two at the front bolstering shields that held off the worst of Skelter’s rifle fire, while the other three barely paused to stop shooting.

“I knew we couldn’t trust that Camarilla bitch!” Skelter roared as he seized one of his molotovs. 

He had to suppress a flinch as he lit the rag, but his arm stayed steady as he lobbed it in an arc over the heads and shields of the ghouls. There was a scream as it exploded, and the five piled into the room, out from the safety of their heavy, steel door.

Skelter pounded at the opportunity, Protean claws seizing one of them by the sides of their head. The ghoul gave a damned unearthly scream as their skull splintered and cracked, only to fall silent as Skelter smashed their head against the concrete. 

Bell meanwhile aimed his shotgun at one of the shield-bearers and pulled the trigger.

The ghoul screamed bloody murder as their shoulder exploded and their arm splintered away from their body, hitting the ground with a wet thud. Bell didn’t waste any time reloaded his shotgun and simply snapped the ghoul’s neck before delivering a devastating blow to the sternum of the next closest ghoul.

Not one to be left behind, Skelter lunged at another ghoul just as they regained their senses and pointed the rifle at him. The bullets passed clean through his gut, and while it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, it didn’t slow him down in the slightest. He pinned them to the ground, punched them in the head before snapping their neck hard enough that it nearly turned all the way around.

The last ghoul would have fallen to Bell if she hadn’t dropped to her knees.

“Wait! Please! Don’t kill me,” she sputtered, holding her now-empty hands up in surrender. “I-I can help you!”

“Your friend Corner told us the same thing,” Bell snarled. “But let me guess, its not her fault because she wasn’t able to resist the blood bond?”

“N-no, it wasn’t that!” The Ghoul was visibly sweating and trembling, making her a rather pathetic sight in her full-body armour. “Roy, the bastard! He knew she snuck out and forced her to tell him what she had done! Lisa-”

“Is dead,” Skelter snapped, turning to Bell. “So much for our inside help.”

“No!” the Ghoul interrupted. “S-she’s alive- Or, you know. Not  _ dead _ dead.” She shook her head frantically. “Roy seems to think that by killing the girl, everything will go back to normal and the Camarilla will just. Forgive everything. Like it was just a mistake.

“He’s keeping Lisa alive because he wants her to see that he’s still in control and that she should never have doubted him. T-then he’ll...”

Bell and Skelter paused and exchanged a glance as the Ghoul trailed off.

The Ghoul didn’t seem to be lying. At the very least, it seemed that her loyalty belonged to Lisa as opposed to Roy, and if she  _ hadn’t _ willingly betrayed them… Then perhaps this Ghoul could be counted on. For the moment.

“So what now?” Bell asked, cocking a brow at her. “Can you help us do what Lisa promised?”

The Ghoul hesitated, worrying her lower lip.

“Roy already knows about the plan. Even if we can get the doors open, those assassins will be waiting to kill anyone who enters,” she explained hurriedly. “But me and the others - the ones that are loyal to Lisa, anyway - we came up with a way to counter them. I don’t know if it will be enough though, I’ve only been with Lisa for a year now, and there’s a lot I still don’t know-”

“That’s typical for a ghoul,” Skelter snorted. “I always said you guys were more trouble than you’re worth.”

But Bell seemed to be contemplating what she had said and knelt down in front of the Ghoul.

“You can get the main doors open and get us access to Roy’s sanctuary?” 

She hesitated then nodded timidly.

“Then tell me what you propose we do.”

She seemed to deflate with a small measure of relief as she realised that she wasn’t going to be killed. And then she sniffed, gave herself a small shake, and she looked back at Theo with the tiniest shred of confidence that was already wavering.

“How would you react if I told you that I’ve already had the courtyard wired with explosives?”

[]

A huge cassowary burst at full sprint across the wreckage of the castle grounds and kicked an Assamite hard in the ribs. Their chest caved in sideways and they hit the dirt, gasping through a mouthful of blood.

Mindy fired her grenade launcher, and the grenade careened overhead, exploding against the outer-wall of the castle, throwing debris and dust into the air.

Beckett roared as he threw a ghoul bodily into another with enough force that at least one of their backs audibly snapped.

Jack had abandoned Nines’ bike and had his hands buried deep into the back of a Ventrue. He ripped their spine clean free and began to swing it like some sort of horrifying, bloody club. He was past the point of laughter and instead was raging at anyone who dared come within reach of him.

Damsel meanwhile had given up on words altogether. She’d lost her beret somewhere in the chaos and had resorted to screaming with fury every time she was winding up to smash someone’s skull in with her pipe.

Nines threw a grenade and shot it with his hand cannon when it was high enough in the air, causing it to explode in a cloud of flame and shrapnel.

And Evie was currently trying to ward off a Nosferatu with her sword.

She slashed at the older Kindred who simply grinned and melted out of sight before reappearing over her shoulder. Ever since she had engaged him in battle, he had simply done nothing but mock and goad her, and frankly, she was getting sick of it.

As her temper mounted, she lashed out ever more aggressively at her opponent, but that was exactly was the Nosferatu wanted. Her moves became sloppy and poorly coordinated, and it made an opening that he took full advantage of.

His long, claw-like nails slashed at her side and she stumbled to her knees. It was his own hubris that kept him from finishing her there and then. But it gave her a second to recall what Beckett had taught her.

_ Think of yourself as a sharpened blade. When you lose your temper, you lose your edge. Self-control, above all else, will keep you alive. _

So she took a deep breath, centering herself as the Nosferatu circled behind her at a languid pace, grinning with irregularly pointed fangs. He raised a clawed hand and made to slash and finish the job.

_ MOVE! _

She obeyed her instincts and rose, spinning on the balls of her feet and lifting her blade. It cut through his arm, digging into the bone, and her clawed hand sunk into his throat. 

His eyes bulged in shock at the sudden turn of events and she simply returned the stare with a sour smile before she clenched her fist. His head rolled from his shoulders and he collapsed into dust.

And then-!

There was a loud, bellowing sound from above the main gates and every ghoul and Kindred paused mid-battle as their heads swivelled in the direction of the noise that they only just registered as a battle cry of sorts.

Silhouetted against bright flood lights stood Skelter and Theo Bell; the former punched a fist into the air as all eyes turned to fix on him. And as his cry finally died in his throat, silence fell across the battlefield.

It was cut short by a loud wail as the castle gates creaked open. 

A roar went up from the Anarchs as they surged forwards before Theo bellowed, “HOLD!” into the charged night air, and in an instant the crowd stopped dead. Even Roy’s forces seemed unsure of what was happening. 

And then, just as the courtyard beyond the gates exploded into flames, the pair leapt, propelled forwards by the explosion that tore through ancient stone and brought down the gates that had withstood the rigors of time over centuries.

[]

Roy didn’t like to lose, but he knew when he was beaten. As the walls rattled with the force of the explosion and courtyard monitors suddenly cut to static and the monitors showing the hallways did the same, he knew that a thread had been pulled loose. A ghoul he had undoubtedly overlooked. Maybe more. Ones he had trusted a childe to oversee rather than do it himself as he used to. That was the problem with big families. It was too easy to lose sight of little details and for a certain Toreador to swap his vitae for her own when providing her charges with their monthly feeds.

No doubt enough of them - needy and treacherous as they were - were pulled over by Lisa’s sway. That was a mistake they would regret when no one else would have them and they found themselves parched of the precious blood they craved.

Such mistakes happened, and usually he was willing to forgive small missteps, but at such a critical juncture it was unacceptable; it was the kind of misstep that cost a person everything, and tonight it had done exactly that. And if he would execute one of his childer who failed him in such a fashion, it was his duty to face his sentence with dignity.

Never let it be said that he was not a man of respect.

To the second seat on his left, Lisa sat stiff as a statue, her eyes dripping blood as she dared to glower at him.

“Should the wind change, your face will be stuck like that, my dear,” he remarked.

“Yes Father,” she replied stonily, but she didn’t wipe the tears from her face or change her expression.

He sighed and rubbed his temple in a surprisingly human fashion. It kept the ghouls and new childer at ease, and it made his numerous mortal families from across the years question nothing, so he had carefully crafted and maintained such mannerisms to keep up the illusion of his being human too. Yet it served him nothing now that the end drew near.

“Has Evelyn truly poisoned you so? Your disposition, your rebellious behaviour… It is most unbecoming.”

Lisa didn’t reply, just maintained her stony silence.

Ordinarily he would punish such impudent behaviour, but It didn’t really matter anymore, he decided. The end was coming, and the Camarilla would deliver its justice. 

And unlike his unruliest daughter, he would accept such justice, as was befitting of a Prince. If Hardestadt and the Inner Circle didn’t care for how he did things anymore, who was he to argue when his haven was falling to ruin around him? 

So he didn’t rise from his seat when he heard the marching footsteps echoing down the halls, drawing ever closer to his office. He didn’t even flinch as the heavy oaken doors were flung open and his mongrel daughter - she was still  _ his  _ after all, no matter what Beckett might claim - stepped through the doors, flanked by her allies.

It couldn’t possibly be all of them. No doubt the rest were outside, cleaning up what was left of his forces. So much for the Tremere who had abandoned the Pyramid to join him, but that was their choice. They could reap the consequences of their betrayal.

Among the group was Beckett, obviously, and the infamous Nines Rodriguez. There was also a short red-haired woman who could only be the famously uncough Damsel he had heard so much about, and a Black Gangrel man who was most likely Skelter. 

They were all huddled around Evie protectively, ready to surround her at a moment’s notice and shield her from view. But for the moment, she stood at the centre, the perfect picture of chaos and bloodshed.

She was mired with muck and blood sweat, and portions of her hair were singed and smoldering. She stunk of smoke, and yet much of the blood that was splattered over her was that of her enemies rather than her own. She carried a sword in her hand and had a flamethrower strapped to her back; these seemed to be her weapons of choice, as she’d reportedly used the same when hunting down Ming Xiao and Prince Lacroix.

It should have infuriated him, knowing that his most beloved childe, his darling first-borne Victoria, had fallen to this brat and her ilk. But in hindsight, he was forced to recognise that she would have been a fine addition to the family; maybe as an enforcer or a problem solver.

She might have even made a fine Sheriff someday. 

But things were what they were. She was an unruly, poorly disciplined, spoilt brat of a child who dared to disobey and refused to accept her place. 

While Beckett had undoubtedly been a terrible influence with his own selfish nature, he wasn’t entirely to blame. Evie had always been tumultuous, ungrateful, and badly behaved. He had chosen to take her on, and for that, he could suffer her for the rest of his nights.

“I’m unarmed,” Roy said coolly, lacing his fingers together on the tabletop. “All of this trouble, simply to visit your own father, Evelyn. You do realise that you could have knocked. You’d have been perfectly welcome.”

“You’re not my dad,” she said coldly.

Roy slowly cocked his head to one side.

“Well, perhaps not biologically. But did I not raise you as my own? Did I not take you and your brother in after the death of your darling mother-?”

“Shut. Up.”

He watched, vaguely amused to see her fighting back all manner of emotions. He could see it in her aura. Hatred, fear, anger, desperation… Oh yes. He might not have succeeded in ending her miserable existence, but he could see the mark he had left. That would stay with her for nights to come, as would he.

But he said nothing about this. He just shook his head as if he was merely disappointed.

“Look at you, child. All of this potential, and see how you waste it. With Anarchs and two-bit scholars. Had you a modicum of discipline-”

“She told you to shut the fuck up you bastard,” Nines snarled. 

Roy stared blankly at Nines. So the stories were true. The infamous Anarch leader was just another impassioned rebel with more bark than bite. How disappointing. He had hoped for better.

He also didn’t fail to notice a very particular Kindred standing at the back of the group; the leather jacket and baseball cap were a dead giveaway.

“Ah, Archon Bell. I’m not surprised to see that you’re the one Hardestadt sent. Or perhaps it was Pascek? I wonder what he would think if he knew that you were associating with these rebels,” he noted as he began to let his Presence begin to seep across the room.

Lisa shuddered in her seat and seemed to shrink in on herself, though Evie and her allies seemed better prepared as none of them visibly quailed. He pressed a little harder.

A little entertainment before it was over. Archon Bell wouldn’t simply roll over if it interfered with his mission, after all.

“The Camarilla doesn’t give a shit how I get the job done, so long as it gets done and the Traditions are intact,” Bell snorted. “Last I checked, I’m not breaking a single one by playing nice.”

Roy conceded.

Always to the point, Archon Bell. That he could admire. A shame that Don Cerro had inspired such loyalty in his childe. What Roy would have given for such a capable and competent son. Leon had still been young and reckless, and hadn’t quite grown into his potential before his untimely death. A shame indeed.

“Well then.” He clasped the arms of his chair and rose to his feet, his Presence now filling the room. “I believe there is one final matter to attend to. It is a shame things have played out so, but I know when to admit that I have lost. And I am well aware of the price of losing.”

He began to stroll the length of the room, towards Evie and her allies. He paused behind Lisa, clasping her upper arms and leaning around her seat to press a parting peck to her cheek.

“Farewell, my dear. Take care, or the Camarilla will surely have your head next,” he murmured in her ear.

She didn’t reply, just sat rigidly in her seat with her hands clasped together so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were practically white against her brown skin.

“But of course, there is only one way for this to be a truly fitting end, is there not,” he continued as he straightened up and continued to stroll down the room. He paused and turned to one of the cabinets on the wall.

He became very aware of several firearms being pointed at his back, but he paid them no mind. Instead he pulled out a silver revolver with only a single round remaining in the chamber.

He turned back to the group and held the gun by the barrel, making it as clear as possible that he had no intentions to use it on them. Instead he fixed his eyes on Evie. She stared back at him, looking very much like she wanted to be sick as she tried not to look at the gun he was holding.

His viper smile unfolded as he reached her and held the gun out.

“You recognise this, do you not?” he asked in a way that might pass for friendly conversation if it wasn’t for the cold depravity in his eyes. “Don’t you think it ought to finish the job that you started four years ago?”

He relished in the way her eyes widened and her jaw went slack, and he could all but picture her stomach dropping.

She didn’t take the gun from him, so he smiled a little more tightly, took her hand and wrapped it around the handle. She tried to tug away, but his grip remained firm, even as Beckett stepped closer with a growing scowl on his face.

“Leave her alone, you-”

“Now, now Mr Beckett. Let’s not say anything you’ll regret,” he said calmly before returning his piercing gaze to Evie. He still hadn’t released her hand, and he could feel her trembling against his cold, dead flesh.

Oh, he had missed this. Such a small and simple pleasure, seeing someone quivering in fear of him. She barely even resisted as he brought the barrel to rest squarely between his eyes.

“Well go on,” he said encouragingly. “Just like last time. Only with more feeling.”

It came out as a low hiss. Cold. Sadistic. Just like the glint in his eyes.

But Evie didn’t pull the trigger. She couldn’t. Her bravado had abandoned her. The cold determination drained from her, and fear took its place. 

He would be lying if he said that it wasn’t immensely amusing to watch. For all her power, for all the deaths, for all the chaos she had caused… and he could so easily reduce her back to the frightened, pathetic child that she had always been.

“What’s the matter, Evelyn?” His snake-like smile began to spread. “Lacking the stomach, are we? Did you show such hesitation when you murdered Ming Xiao? Or Sebastian? What about the young lady who was unfortunate enough to be saddled with you, hm? Samantha, wasn’t it?”

His lip curled.

“Did you even question yourself for a moment before you murdered them-?”

Before he could finish, there was a thunderous crack and he felt his gut blow inwards on itself. He paused and looked down, then back up into the murderous eyes of Damsel.

“No one,” she growled, “and I mean  _ no one _ -”

She moved the gun to his sternum and pulled the trigger again with a second  _ crack _ as the bullet tore through bone and flesh.

“-fucks with this kid anymore. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

She was baring her fangs, and he could taste blood in his mouth, but Roy could only laugh.

“Aren’t we the proud hypocrite?” he chortled viciously as blood spilled over his lip and dribbled down his chin. “Didn’t you ‘fuck’ with her? Weren’t you the one who sent her to Sebastian as a spy?”

Damsel grit her teeth tightly.

“Yeah, I did. And y’know what, I ain’t fucking proud of it. But you know something, you Cammie Prick?” 

She elbowed Evie out of the way, and Nines and Skelter moved to stand side by side with her, guns drawn.

“At least we’re trying to make up for it.”

[]

Evie didn’t resist as Beckett led her out of the room as the Anarchs and Bell carried out the execution. Gunshots chased them up the hallway, echoing off of the ancient stone walls, though she didn’t even react as one shot was followed by another and another. He wasn’t sure if he ought to be worried or relieved that she made no effort to fight him.

It was probably the former. He’d seen her at her lowest, the moment she had tried to take her own life by waiting for the sunrise, but to see the fight drained from her at the sight of a single weapon, a weapon that had caused her no small amount of trauma and heartbreak, was enough to make his own dead heart ache just thinking about it.

He guided her through the halls, not entirely sure of what he was doing or where they were going. He just wanted to get her somewhere where she could even begin to process what had just happened.

Roy had been so calm, so accepting of his fate, and yet he was still determined to drag Evie down with him. 

‘And the Ventrue would have us believe that the Lasombra are the vindictive ones,’ he thought derisively.

“Sir?”

He turned on his heel, claws unsheathed, only to find himself faced with a frightened looking ghoul.

“M-my apologies, but Lady Lisa instructed me to inform you that there are rooms that you and your companions may make use of for the day,” the Ghoul stuttered as they tried not to look terrified of the clawed hand he held up.

He paused, then sheathed his talons once more.

“That is very kind of Miss Corner.”

The Ghoul nodded a little too eagerly for his liking - was it too late to mention that he despised ghouls and all that they entailed? - and beckoned for him to follow.

Evie didn’t budge from where she stood and looked at him with a dead, glassy expression. For a moment she didn’t speak. Just stood there, rooted to the spot, dead-eyed. He frowned at her.

“Evie?” 

Her mouth opened ever so slightly.

“I want to leave,” was all she said in a tiny voice.

“Fair enough,” was all he said as he turned back to the Ghoul. “Tell Miss Corner that we appreciate her generosity, but we’ll manage ourselves.”

They flinched but bowed and scurried off down the hall, leaving the two Gangrel alone. Evie still didn’t budge, and her expression was still dazed and distant. It took him a moment to register that she might well be in some sort of shock, if Kindred  _ could _ go into shock.

Physically, he had never seen it, but emotional shock? Well it wasn’t impossible. Aside from their unnatural power and need to feed on blood, Kindred weren’t all that different from humans. And Evie was especially in touch with her humanity. It wasn’t hard to believe that being confronted with her hated father figure who knew exactly which fears to prey upon could induce something like this.

So he gently placed a hand over her shoulder and guided her towards whichever exit he thought might be nearest.

[]

Evie stared at her feet, watching the ash, grease and blood dirtying the water before disappearing down the drain.

Over a year later, and here she was again. A raided haven, a Prince dead, and her standing in a shower trying to make sense of the mess in her head as her head throbbed with a low ache that refused to leave her be.

She’d frozen up. 

In less than a second she had stopped being Kindred and had returned to being a little girl who had just wanted her father to stop hurting her brother. Once more she had been paralysed by fear, except this time she hadn’t even acted. 

Damsel, Nines, Skelter, and Theo. They had done it instead. They’d pulled the trigger and brought about his death while she froze up and locked herself away inside as if that would somehow protect her from it all.

God it was pathetic. After everything she had done, everything she had been through, and she couldn’t bring herself to kill him. She’d spent weeks, no months, preparing herself for the moment only to falter at the last second over one stupid pistol.

Even now she wondered if Roy had won somehow.

He had expected to die, that much was clear from the moment they entered the room and found him sitting calmly with no immediate means of defending himself. But he had broken her somehow, and he’d made child’s play of it. 

Had he won because she had been unable to kill him? Because her fear of him had paralysed her so deeply that her allies had had to step in. 

Or would her killing him have been the victory? He had seemed intent on a grimly poetic end, with her using the same gun she had fired at him all those years ago. 

Or maybe he had won regardless. Maybe there had never been any means to beat Roy. He’d certainly been prepared to die on his own terms. Even when Damsel shot him twice, he had only mocked her-

“Evie, try to remember that we only have so much water.”

She flinched as Beckett rapped a knuckle on the door before walking down the length of the plane.

Right. Back to reality. She couldn’t hide all night, much as she wanted to.

She rung out her hair, ensuring that the singed ends had all come free and that it was no longer leaking black, grey and red over her shoulders and down her back, before reluctantly shutting off the water. She dried herself before sitting on the floor, still wrapped in a towel, unable - or maybe just unwilling - to finish dressing and heading out into the cabin.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to Beckett about what happened, she just wasn’t sure if she could without bursting into tears. 

What if he was disappointed with her for faltering? What if he considered it all a waste of time because she had failed to kill Roy? What if he was going to get rid of her now that the danger was past? What if-?

“Evie? Are you alright?”

Beckett was at the door again and she startled upon realising that she had in fact been crying. He must have heard with those sharp ears of his.

“I’m fine,” she mumbled. “Just… getting dressed.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure. Just. Give me a minute.”

Finally Evie pulled herself together enough to start dressing as Beckett walked away again. She’d opted for a pair of black leggings and a loose black t-shirt, and she didn’t bother with shoes. They were over thirty thousand feet in the air, so she hardly needed them. She just wanted to be comfortable.

When she stepped back out into the cabin, Beckett beckoned her over to the sofa where he was waiting for her, and slowly she made her way over. Without missing a beat, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she sat down. 

This time, she told herself, she wouldn’t cry. It was over now. She was past the point of crying over Roy and his stupid schemes.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

And without missing a beat, the dam inside of her broke without hesitation and she crumbled immediately as bloody tears began to stream down her cheeks.

Beckett didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised. If anything, he seemed to have anticipated her reaction as he produced a box of tissues, which he would certainly make fun of her for one night in the far future, when all of this was simply a bitter memory and a well-healed wound. 

While it was still fresh, he would leave it be.

For now he simply waited for her to calm herself down and patted her hair comfortingly as she mopped her eyes with the tissues, only for more tears to spill over and after a while it became apparent that the torrent wasn’t ending anytime soon.

“I’m so proud of you, Young One,” Beckett said soothingly. “It took courage to stand up to Roy like that.”

“But I didn’t!” she wailed. “I didn’t-! I couldn’t-!”

A fresh wave of sobs wracked her body as she buried her face into her hands..

“All of that and I  _ couldn’t do it _ !”

“And you shouldn’t have had to. You’re a child Evie. No child should have to become a killer just to survive.”

“I’m not a child,” she shot back thickly. “’m eighteen.”

Beckett couldn’t resist rolling his eyes.

“To me, Young One, that means remarkably little.”

She gave him a ‘hmph’ and a kick in the leg - though it was more of a tap - in return.

“Remember that Roy was a master manipulator for centuries. What he did, and the effect he has had on you is in no way your fault. You weren’t his first victim. But because of your efforts, you are the last. Because of what you did, no one else will ever be forced to endure him again.”

“But I didn’t _ kill _ him.”

“No. You didn’t. But you made it possible.”

They sat in silence for a while as Evie contemplated her fingernails, turning it over in her head for a while. But Beckett’s arm didn’t remove itself from her shoulders, and he didn’t seem the slightest bit angry with her. That was a small relief.

“So… What happens now?” she asked quietly, not looking up at Beckett.

“Now, Young One, I believe we get back to work.” He smirked at her. “There’s plenty of research we need to catch up on, and plenty of recordings that need transcribing.”

She elbowed him in the ribs and then leaned into his side again, taking reassurance in his presence.

Right… Now that Roy was gone, it would be a matter of going back to how things were before everything had gone to shit. It felt like a whole other life, just like that night on the train. Maybe it was just the exhaustion of being caught up in events that were too big to really process, or maybe something in her was fundamentally changed, but this time she really wanted a more normal kind of normal. 

She wanted those early days in Cairo where she was getting into the flow of life as Beckett’s childe, when things seemed straightforward and all she had to worry about was knowing what he was talking about at any given moment.

And now... Now that Roy was dead... Maybe they could have more of those days. And maybe they would become normal again, as opposed to a brief respite between one horror and another.

Yes. Yes, she decided that she'd quite like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... genuinely have no idea what to say here. I honestly didn't if I would ever reach this point. For a fic that started out as a drabble, I had no idea it would transform into an entire fic, let alone one that was +100K, or one that people would enjoy so much. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support, I hope you found this chapter satisfying - personally it scared the hell out of me, trying to figure out how to go about handling Roy's Final Death - and I hope you will enjoy the Epilogue as well ^^


	24. Epilogue - Laid to Rest

_1st January, 2019_

Somewhere in the distance, a roaring cheer went up as fireworks shrieked up into the sky, exploding into dazzling colours as music filled the air. A church bell tolled, hailing midnight and the start of the New Year, and Beckett strolled along the High Street, hands deep in his pockets as he passed through the crowds of Kine virtually unnoticed. 

Ireland was not the kind of place that Beckett would usually visit, especially a small town like this one. It lacked any substantial historical significance, both to Kindred and Kine, and not many Kindred frequented it either. Beckett wasn’t sure the place even _had_ any permanent undead residents lurking around. 

It was, simply put, lacking in the kind of significance that usually drew him to such places. But tonight wasn’t about what mattered to him, but what mattered to his childe.

Beckett passed through the marketplace where the bulk of the celebrations were taking place. A stage had been erected and a band was playing, whipping the crowd up into a frenzy as the music blared out over the loud-speakers. He ignored it, instead turning down a side path that ran between a row of shops and an iron fence with a small public garden on the other side.

Celebrators drank deep of their cups and tinnies even here, giving slurred but enthusiastic New Years greetings to Beckett as he passed. He returned them politely, but never broke his stride. 

Emerging onto the street on the other side, Beckett took a whiff of the night air. Amidst the exhaust fumes of cars, smoke of fireworks and stench of alcohol, it wasn't easy to pick out a single specific scent, but he managed. 

He followed the trail away from the centre of town in the direction of the church. The irony wasn't lost on him. 

The church doors were open and light poured out onto the pavement as an elderly couple stepped out into the night air. Beckett quickly stepped into the shadows to avoid being seen. In fact he would have ignored them all together but as it so happened, their conversation quickly caught his interest. 

"Ah, that's better," the old man said in a thick Kerry accent. "It's always so crowded in there. Don't know how you stand it." 

"Oh hush," said his wife as she gave his arm a playful slap. "Would it kill you to enjoy yourself for once?" 

"Of course it would!" he replied with mock offense. "The people, the noise! Augh, I'd rather be home in front of the fire with the dogs and grandkids."

"I know, I know. Pete’s sake Emmet, you’ve always been such a grump.”

The couple shared a laugh together, their breath misting in the cold night air. Then the woman looked over at her husband with a grateful (albeit a little sad) smile.

“But surely you're glad you came tonight? Our little Kara and Jacob are finally back home where they belong, after all these years.”

"Oh aye, its grand alright, but a right mystery too. I spoke with the Father, and even he doesn't know who tracked them down and had them reburied here. Apparently it was the work of some ‘anonymous individual’ who left no identification whatsoever.” 

He shook his head, his already wrinkled brow furrowing.

“Very strange if you ask me."

"I never said it wasn't, but I'm not going to think too hard on it,” his wife replied airily. “Our little girl is home, and so is her boy. And without that nasty Roy character to get in the way. I never wished harm on him, but I certainly didn't like him. It’s either a miracle or a curse that he never got convicted for… Well."

Her expression darkened as she trailed off, as did Emmet’s. His voice was small and dark when he spoke, with an old, half-healed anger brewing just below the surface.

"I don't know why we never saw it sooner. We should've known something wasn't right about him, the moment Kara introduced him. But it was all so soon after Adam died-" 

His wife patted his arm even as her own eyes watered and her lips twisted downwards.

"I know love, I know. I always thought Kara was trying to fill the space Adam left behind, but there was something _wrong_ about that man. I just wish… I wish we had _said_ something.”

"I know dear, I know. But Kara wouldn’t have heard a word against him. Stubborn as an ox, our girl. Just like her brothers and sisters.” He chuckled. “She was certainly her mother’s daughter.”

“Oh aye? And you, their stubborn mule of a father, had nothing to do with it? I suspect that your influence had no small part in it.”

The couple managed another laugh, and then silence fell like an uncomfortable blanket, save for the ambient noise of the New Year’s celebrations. Beckett would have moved on, but then the woman spoke again.

“I still can’t believe little Evie made it all the way to California,” she said wetly. “Only to end up-”

“I know love.”

“And that lovely young lady, Samantha? Oh wasn’t it kind of her to reach out and try to keep us in the loop with the police investigation?” She sniffed. “And then she ends up going missing too!”

She let out a wet sob and her husband quickly cradled her gently, patting her hair.

“Oh Saoirse, you’re getting yourself all worked up again.”

“I know, but… After all these years, you’d think it would stop being so horrible!” she sobbed. “They never even found poor little Evie’s body! She’d be thirty two today if-!”

“I know. And there’s nothing I can say to make it any better. But dwelling on it won’t help any either. Now come on Saoirse. It’s Evie’s birthday today. Let’s go enjoy ourselves for her, alright? She wouldn’t want us to stand here crying over things we can’t change.”

She nodded, dabbing her eyes, and Beckett decided to take his leave.

He left behind the elderly couple and pushed open the gate which had the gall to squeal noisily as it opened and closed, and he proceeded into the graveyard.

Here his heightened senses weren’t under nearly so much assault as they were in the town centre. The bangs and whizzes of the fireworks persisted, but the stink of their smoke was dampened, and the music and singing faded into near silence the further he walked.

Rows upon rows of tombstones littered the yard, with many of them worn from years of standing out in the elements. There were no great names recorded here; some great deeds, but no names that history would remember. Veterans of the World Wars, local heroic firefighters, and others of that stripe, but nothing you wouldn’t find anywhere else. 

Beckett took it as a reminder that good people could be found everywhere, and that whose name was recorded in a history book was usually decided by the biases and prejudices of the author as opposed to the pure, unfiltered truth. It was one of the many unfortunate truths he had become intimately familiar with over the centuries.

He continued his stroll with his hands in his pockets, eyes scraping the darkness for any sign of-

Ah.

“I take it that the minister picked a good spot, Young One?” he called.

Evie glanced up and smiled at his approach. Her hair was cut into a messy bob worn under a black beanie, though she still had her usual locks dangling in her face. She wore a blue henley, tan canvas trousers, leather boots, and a leather jacket that was suitably worn from travel. Hanging around her neck, as usual, was her tarulfang. She’d recently had to replace the cord it hung from. Again.

‘Typical troublemaker,’ Beckett thought to himself as if he wasn’t endeared to her brand of troublemaking.

Fifteen years on and she didn’t look a day over seventeen, but that was to be expected. What marvelled him when it came to his childe was the glitter of life in her yellow eyes that so many neonates would have lost by the time they had made it this far. A year was usually enough to leave any Kindred jaded enough that they had little hope left for anything that could be called ‘better.’ And those who struggled for better were most often driven by anger and self-interest as opposed to genuine compassion for others.

Against all odds, she’d survived the worst year of her unlife, and had thrived ever since. Between helping Beckett with his research and finding her own brand of trouble, she’d grown in ways that were easily disguised by her youthful appearance.

“I might have left a recommendation,” she replied with a hint of cheek. “Father O’Connell was happy to oblige to such a thoughtful benefactor.”

Beckett chuckled and clasped a hand on her shoulder. He squeezed gently, and then took a look at the shared tombstone they were standing before.

Unlike many of the tombstones, this one was brand new and made from pearly white marble with the writing and decorations detailed in a gold inlay. A number of flowers and trinkets had been left at its base earlier that day, and someone had left a candle which had long since burned out.

_Here lies Adam Jensen, Kara Byrne, Jacob Jensen-Byrne, and Evie Jensen-Byrne. A Family Taken From Us Too Soon._

_3rd March 1955 - 23rd September 1986_

_Always dedicated to protecting others, may Adam finally know the peace and joy his family, and may he watch over us all._

_30th September 1954 - 1st January 1987_

_A beloved daughter and mother, may Kara share in the love and joy of her family that she was denied in life._

_4th April 1983 - 13th August 2001_

_Renowned for his mischief and steadfast loyalty, Jacob will be sorely missed as a light in the world._

_1st January 1987 - October 19th 2004_

_Brave and clever, Evie surpassed impossible odds only to have her life cut far too short. We pray her soul rests easy._

“Nice of them to include me, wasn’t it?” Evie joked. “Though I’m pretty sure I count as a restless spirit these nights.”

Beckett wasn’t so easily fooled by her half-hearted attempt at wit and squeezed her shoulder.

“It’s alright Young One. I’m here.”

That did it. 

He felt the quiver run through Evie before she folded into his side. She didn’t tremble and cry as she might have done once, but she did sniffle and swipe at the bloody tears that threatened to well up at the corners of her eyes. But Beckett just held her and waited for the moment to end on her own terms.

“I’m okay,” she sniffed when she finally pulled away, wiping at the last of the bloody tears. “I’m okay.”

His hands lingered on her shoulders for a moment, just to make sure she really was okay, before he removed them. She recomposed herself, pushing her hair out of her face and taking a deep breath with her hands on her hips. Another very human gesture that most Kindred her age would have lost the need for by now.

She shook her head.

“I’m fine. I just… Can’t believe it took me this long to finally get it done. Undoing everything Roy did…” 

She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat.

“He made a real mess with the system just so my grandparents couldn’t bring Mum and Jacob’s bodies back here. Bastard. And the way he took away our dad’s name, just to erase him from our lives completely. To make it like he never even existed…

“If it hadn’t been for those records of Mum’s first marriage, I wouldn’t have even known to try and look for him, let alone have him reburied here. Why do Ventrue have to be such fucking bastards?”

She scowled at the ground and Beckett patted her shoulder.

“It’s done now. I’m impressed you took the time to pull apart that tangled mess of bureaucracy, given how many times you ended up screaming into a pillow.”

“They deserved better than what that bastard gave them,” she said, shrugging. “Besides, unlike Mum’s family, I have all the time in the world to pick apart mountains of paperwork and bullshit. Turns out its not all that different from figuring out a dig site. Except I don’t have you sticking your nose over my shoulder every two seconds, so its not nearly as bad.”

At that, Beckett just laughed.

“One day you’ll miss me sticking my nose over your shoulder,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Now. Is there anything else you need to do, or should we get going? It _is_ your birthday after all.”

Evie hesitated and reached into her bag which had been sitting at her feet. From within, she pulled out a wreath of flowers; white roses interwoven with clover which Beckett realised were actually shamrocks from their three, heart-shaped leaves.

“A little on the nose, but not a bad choice, Young One,” he remarked as she lay it at the foot of the tombstone, which was already littered with bouquets of flowers and trinkets, no doubt left earlier that day by family members and well-wishers for whom today was undoubtedly one of great mourning.

Evie didn’t reply, just straightened up, looped her arm around his, and rested her head against his shoulder.

For a while neither of them moved or said a word, just stood there in silence. Evie was undoubtedly mulling over all that could have been and what was - Beckett could see the yearning in her eyes. What he couldn’t be sure of was what she yearned for; for her family to be standing alongside her, or for herself to be sleeping alongside them.

On that rather morose thought he shook his head.

“Time to go, Young One, before Cesare comes looking for us.”

With a nod, Evie followed, and together the two Kindred departed the graveyard, just as snow began to flutter down from the illuminated night sky.

**The End.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. Blood and Trust is finally a fully completed fic ;-;  
> I genuinely didn't know if I was ever going to actually do it because I can be so iffy with long fics and my attention span but... here it is. We made it.
> 
> Thank you all so much for joining me on Evie and Beckett's adventure. Your support has meant the world to me, and it really did keep me going through it all. I appreciate all the comments and kudos, thank you all, you guys are absolutely wonderful ^^
> 
> I do plan on writing some more VTM fic in the future so I hope you guys will join me again when I get around to sharing that, and hopefully sometime this year we'll finally get that new hit of content we're all craving in Bloodlines 2 :D


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